Betrayal
by lostsoul512
Summary: Love, friendship, heartbreak and demonic invasions are all normal parts of growing up, right? At least, for them it is. Yesterday, they were just a group of elves trying to find their place in the world. Now, they've been thrown into the most dangerous struggle of all, with the very fate of their race depending on it. (Book one in my trilogy)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello, loves. So, I had mentioned this once before in one of the Jaina/Arthas oneshots. I've been working on this for about six months now, and I finally decided I'm going to start posting the chapters. A few things I wanted to say real quickly. **

**One, trying to follow the lore of WotA is a nightmare. I refused to read the trilogy as I was working on this, because I didn't want it to end up as a retelling. All my lore has come from wikis and other such places. This gave me the freedom to fill in the gaps as I saw fit. **

**Two, as this is a **_**fanfiction **_**and not simply recycling the wiki pages, there are some things I made changes to from the original lore. Either because I didn't think they made sense, or I didn't think they benefitted my story. But for the most part, the actual war parts are relatively canon. **

**Three, this is going to end up as a trilogy, at least. So I hope you'll stay for the long adventure. Reviews always welcome, but play nice, yeah? **

**Obviously, I don't own Warcraft or any such affiliations. Otherwise this would all be canon, and my heart wouldn't always be so damn broken. **

_**one**_

The first thing he felt was the pain taking over his body. His head was spinning and everything was dark, which he should have been used to anyway, but this was a different kind of darkness. It took a few minutes for him to gather the strength to push himself up off the cold, hard ground. He didn't know where he was or where he was going, if there was even anywhere to go. He didn't know anything except the pounding in his head and the hot, coppery taste of blood in his mouth.

Managing to push himself to his feet, stumbling in the shadows for something to support him, he finally felt his body collide with the damp stone wall. His legs were threatening to give out beneath him, but still he took a few steps, wiping the blood away from his lips. Fading in and out of consciousness, drifting somewhere between pitch black and something even darker, a thousand memories flashed across his mind. Once upon a time it had all seemed so simple. So innocent. But then the shadows had descended, and suddenly there was nothing else. Just the remnants of a dream long since forgotten.

Somewhere, he could hear voices, and he wasn't sure if they were real or in his head, because everything was sort of blurring together. The sound of his name reached his ears, then, spoken in a sweetly soft and tragically broken voice. Like a dagger tearing into his flesh. Of all the times he had heard his name fall from her lips, it had never hurt him as much as it did then.

He strained himself, trying to hear, trying to make out what they were saying, but his head was spinning and he honestly wasn't sure if he was conscious anymore, so it all sounded muffled and far away. Just a memory, playing back, over and over to remind him of all the things he had lost. All the things for which he had not been prepared.

The second thing he felt was the pain in his chest, the kind that made it hard to breathe. And then it was easy to succumb to the darkness, which he should have been used to anyway.

…

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Tyrande Whisperwind gently opened the book on her lap and glanced up at the sky. It was the most precise shade of navy blue, dotted with stars and illuminated with the ethereal light of the moon. The night was perfect, a slight breeze blowing, tugging at the hem of her dress and teasing her skin wherever it was exposed. The perfect night to sit out between the trees and the moonlight, catch up on some reading, and try to calm her nerves.

She had been trying repeatedly to tell herself that tomorrow would go smoothly. But there was a lingering anxiety that she couldn't seem to shake. Trying to keep herself distracted from any fears or doubts, she focused once more on the book. She supposed it only made sense that she would be nervous, considering it was possible the most important day of her life. In one day she would be officially inaugurated into the Sisterhood of Elune. All her hard work and time and effort, all building up to this-

"Gotcha!"

A surprised scream fell from her lips as Tyrande felt a pair of arms snake around her waist. It quickly turned to laughter as she struggled to wriggle free of the hold, knocking her book into the dewy grass in the process. Rolling her eyes, she pushed her tangled hair out of her eyes and glared at the person standing in front of her.

"Very funny, Illidan," she huffed as she crossed her arms.

The night elf offered up half a smirk. "I thought so," he retorted. He knew fully well that she could never really be upset with him, a fact that was confirmed a moment later when she flashed a small smile. The pair had been inseparable for as long as he could remember, probably even longer than that. They'd grown up together, played together as children, stood side by side as they slowly started to find their paths in life. There weren't a whole lot of things in life Illidan could count on, but he was pretty certain that Tyrande was one of them.

"What are you doing out here, anyway?" Illidan finally asked, reaching to retrieve her book.

Snatching it up, Tyrande smoothed out her skirts and gave her best friend a pointed look. "I was _trying_ to calm myself down a little bit. So thank you for scaring me half to death. It did wonders for my nerves."

Without even realizing it, the pair had begun to walk. They fell into step together naturally, effortlessly. That was sort of how their friendship had always felt to Tyrande. Effortless. From when they were barely old enough to pick up a weapon, there had been something pulling them towards each other. Lately, it had just seemed to be pulling a little harder.

"You have nothing to be worried about," Illidan told her, his voice surprisingly soothing. Usually he was more closed off, maybe even cold at times, but every now and again Tyrande would find this sincerity in his tone that always caught her off guard. He had stopped walking now, reaching out to grab her hand and hold her in place. She looked up through her lashes to see him giving her a serious look. "You're going to be amazing, Tyra. You already _are_. Everything is going to be fine tomorrow."

She really wanted to believe his words, but still she had this feeling that something big was about to happen. Bigger than either of them could even begin to imagine. She glanced up at the moon, but it had been veiled by some clouds. Tyrande tried not to take that as a bad omen.

They had started to walk again, through the expansive gardens that rested in the center of their city. Suramar was a great, sprawling place, with the Temple of Elune looming over, silently keeping vigil watch. In the distance was the Eternal Palace, and just beyond that rested the Well. Every so often Illidan would steal a glance at her, taking in the way the moonlight danced off her dark hair, making the blue pigments show even more. The way her bottom lip would quiver just slightly when she had a particularly upsetting thought. The way she kept pushing her bangs from her face even though she knew they would just fall right back.

Feeling Illidan's strong gaze upon her, a slight blush crept onto her cheeks. Tyrande realized their hands were still clasped and quickly pulled away. "I should go," she murmured. She caught the way Illidan's gaze shifted to the ground, only for a second, before he nodded. There was a sudden shift in the atmosphere around them, a tension she couldn't quite place. For as long as she could remember, their relationship had been effortless. But lately, it seemed like it was a little more strained. She wanted desperately to make that go away. She wanted desperately to keep things how they had always been.

After a moment of hesitation, she leaned in to wrap her arms around him in a quick hug. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

Illidan slipped his arms around her waist, holding her small frame to him, cherishing the fleeting moment. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

He lingered there for a moment longer and watched her enter the temple before turning to retreat back to his own empty bed. There was a wistfulness he couldn't quite seem to shake, an emptiness he couldn't place. He was happy for Tyrande, of course. She was his oldest and closest friend. And she was going to be great. She had chosen Elune, or rather the goddess had chosen her.

But him, he had no path. He was lost, stuck waiting for some great destiny to present itself to him. He just hoped it wouldn't wait much longer.

…

"And with my warmest blessings, I welcome each of you into the Sisterhood of Elune." The High Priestess Dejahna smiled brightly at each of the students standing before her. Her stomach finally managing to unknot itself, Tyrande beamed back. She had done it. All her work had paid off, and she had finally achieved her goals. This was the beginning of the rest of her life.

The girls were all congratulating each other, a few even clasping hands or hugging. After Tyrande had shared in their excitement, she bounded off the stage and straight towards Illidan. He had been watching from one of the rows through the entire ceremony, a slight smile tugging at his own lips. With the moonlight filtering in through the expansive, open ceilings, he didn't think she had ever looked as beautiful as she did in that moment.

Illidan pulled his best friend in for a quick hug, letting her go much sooner than he would have liked. "See?" He said teasingly. "That wasn't so bad." The blue haired elf nodded eagerly, unable to conceal her excitement.

There was a slight change in the air around them as Illidan glanced away, his amber eyes fixated off on nothing. For as long as he had known her, Tyrande had had this power over him, this way of making him forget everything else but her. And many times, he had tried to work up the courage to tell her so, to tell her everything he so desperately needed her to know. But it just never seemed like the right time. Or maybe he was just a coward.

Now, though, she was looking at him expectantly, like she was waiting for something even if she wasn't sure what it was, exactly. And Illidan couldn't stop thinking about the way she had looked during her coronation, more vibrant and alive than she had ever appeared before. He looked back at her, overly aware of every inch between them.

"Illy?" Tyrande asked softly, using her childhood nickname for him, reaching out to grasp his hand in hers. "Is everything okay?"

A slow sigh escaped his lips. "Tyrande, I just-" he cut himself off as he watched her gaze travel past him, catching the way her eyes lit up, glowing even brighter through the darkness that surrounded them. With a slight frown he glanced over her shoulder, feeling his heart sink as he followed her gaze.

"Malfurion," she breathed in an eager whisper. Excusing herself in a soft murmur, Tyrande moved gracefully across the room and right into the arms of a tall, muscled elf. And all Illidan could do was watch from a distance at the way he wrapped her in his hold, lifting her off the ground. Something twisted deep inside of him, but he managed to push it aside and make his way towards them.

Tyrande was talking excitedly to him, tucking her hair behind her pointed ear and occasionally biting down on her bottom lip. But she snapped her mouth shut as Illidan sauntered up to her side, her eyes flickering carefully between the two men. There was a tangible tension in the air around them.

But finally, Malfurion stepped forward to pull Illidan into an embrace. "Hello, little brother," he greeted, his voice genuine and caring.

Illidan fought to break free of his hold. When he was at last able to take a step back, he gave a pointed glare to the emerald-haired elf before him. He was trying his best to appear serious, but there was a small grin tugging at his lips that was just barely noticeable. "I am hardly little," Illidan remarked. "And barely younger than you."

Malfurion let out a quick laugh. "But, still younger," he replied. "And I do not intend on letting you forget it."

Illidan crossed his arms over his chest. Five minutes in, and his twin was already trying his patience. This was nothing new, though, nothing he hadn't been expecting upon his return to Suramar. They had been like this since birth, always bickering, always competing, always trying to prove who was the strongest of the pair. At least it was usually jokingly, Illidan thought. He shuddered to imagine them coming face to face in any real conflict.

"So," Tyrande said then, clasping her hands together. "Tell us everything! You must have so many stories to share. I didn't realize you would be home in time for my ceremony."

Malfurion took the invitation, and easily launched into a long tirade about his time away, the things he had seen and placed he had been. It had barely felt like a day since his brother had left, beginning his own journey to become attuned to his own druidic powers. Illidan mostly tuned him out, though Tyrande appeared to be hanging on every word. Almost literally, by the way she was leaning in towards him, her small hands resting on arm as he talked.

After what felt like an eternity, Illidan decided that no one would notice if he slipped away. He took a few steps back, and then turned fully and made his way out the entrance to the temple. The night was beautiful, the air cooled by a steady breeze, the stars all aglow above him. But it felt empty, somehow. Something was missing; he just wasn't sure what it was. Pushing the thoughts aside, he began to walk away from the temple, and just as he had suspected, no one seemed to realize he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

_**two**_

If there was one thing Maiev Shadowsong understood, it was being alone. This was something she would find did not change in her life, and even when she was surrounded by people who considered themselves close to her, she always felt to herself completely isolated.

Such was how she felt now, lingering alone near the wall. Her white robes hung loosely around her body, but her arms were crossed over her chest and that concealed the front of it. Though her hair was framing her face in pale pink curls, it felt out of place, tickling the back of her neck. And while most everyone in Suramar, or at least everyone important, had come to see the bright young priestesses of the Moon Goddess officially join the Sisterhood, she felt as though no one even realized she was there.

"Stand up straight, child," came a low murmur, a deep voice she recognized well. Her brother appeared at her side, carrying two glasses of wine. "This is your ceremony, remember? You should at least appear as though you want to be here."

Maiev resisted the urge to scowl at him and delicately took the flute from him. "Don't patronize me, Jarod," she retorted, taking a slow sip. She held the glass carefully with both hands, worried she might spill even a single drop of the crimson liquid onto her gown. "I do want to be here," she went on. "At least, I did enjoy the ceremony itself. Why that had to include socializing after is beyond me."

Jarod rolled his eyes and lazily slung an arm around Maiev's shoulders, pulling her into his side. The result was a few drops of wine sloshing over the edge of her glass. Thankfully, they missed her dress. "You need to make some friends," he chastised. "You should be bonding with your new sisters. They all seem so lovely."

The young elf chose that moment to start tuning her brother out. He was always getting on her about something or other, seeing as he was older than her and it was his duty to look after her. Sure, her sisters were all quite nice, and of course she was loyal to them, and to her goddess above all else. But the idea of sitting around gossiping with them, talking about which men they were attracted to like naive children, it just didn't appeal to her. She was used to being alone. She understood solitude. For as long as she could remember, she had been that way. Perhaps it was because her brother was a soldier, and always so busy, much too busy to spend any time with her.

Still, to appease her brother's nagging, she downed the rest of her drink and looked around the wide open temple space. She recognized many faces, people she knew on varying degrees. Her High Priestess, and her newly named sisters, and other important citizens of Suramar. Her gaze strayed to the entrance of the temple, and fell on the thin and beautiful form of Tyrande Whisperwind. Maiev felt something that might have been jealousy, though she would never name it as such, pang in her chest. Tyrande was everything lovely and perfect, with her long tresses of hair and wide, glowing eyes. And she was exceptionally blessed by Elune, or at least that was how the High Priestess had worded it. Maiev couldn't help but be at least slightly jealous of the girl.

Presently, she was flocked by two male figures, both of which Maiev recognized as well. They were the brothers Stormrage, Illidan and Malfurion. As different as night and day, they were, but even from across the room, Maiev could visibly see how much they cared for each other. They made such a perfect trio, they did. Maiev had to fight not to scowl in their direction.

She was far more than just grateful when Jarod suddenly linked arms with her. "Come on, little sister. I want to give you your present now."

She frowned slightly, looking up at him. "Present?" She repeated. "You shouldn't have gotten me anything, Jarod."

Her brother rolled his eyes at her. "Nonsense," he replied. "Maiev, dear, I don't know why you insist on acting like this isn't a big deal, isn't an accomplishment worthy of celebration. You are a priestess now, officially. It is a noble calling. I expect nothing but greatness from you in your life."

To his compliments, she couldn't help but smile a little. She thanked him sincerely. "Alright, fine," she drawled then. "What is this gift you have for me?"

Jarod had to smirk, able to sense the eagerness is her voice. He reached out to take her hand, and together they moved through the crowds and out of the temple. The pair made conversation, sometimes teasing, sometimes serious, as they made their way towards their small house. It wasn't so very far from the temple, and Maiev almost wished they lived further just so she could have a few more of the cherished moments with her brother. When they were younger, they had been inseparable. He was her best friend, really, and she hated all the time he had to spend away from her.

Once they stood before the front door, Maiev was instructed to close her eyes. She thought it was sort of foolish, but she could hear in Jarod's voice that this was important to him, so she indulged him and did as she was told. He tugged her inside by the hand, causing her to giggle a little. "Okay," he said, when he had come to a stop. "Go ahead and open your eyes."

Doing so, Maiev looked before her at the present. It was a stunning set of silver plate armor, decorated with intricate designs and high shoulders. It was laid out on the table, and she was unable to resist reaching out to trail her fingers over the spotless metal. "It's beautiful," she breathed. For a moment, Maiev was frozen, standing there taking in the armor, _her_ armor. Then she was throwing her arms around her brother, burying her face in his chest. "Thank you so much."

Jarod chuckled, petting her hair lightly. "One more thing," he said, breaking free of her hold. He disappeared into the other room for a moment, and when he returned he was holding a weapon. It wasn't a sword, but rather a deadly looking blade, serrated edges that curved into a circle. "It's called an umbra crescent. I thought the name was quite fitting, for a priestess of the moon goddess." He held it out to her, and she took it from him, surprised at how heavy it was. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before, and that made her love it even more.

"I pray to Elune you never have to use them," he told her carefully, shrugging a little as he watched her examine the weapon. "But it never hurts to have a trustworthy blade and a well crafted set of armor."

Maiev nodded eagerly. It was such a wonderful gift, and she honestly felt as though she didn't deserve it all. He must have spent a fortune, having them made just for her. "Well, try it on, then! I know you want to," Jarod said happily, giving her a playful shove.

She felt a blush creep over her cheeks, but set the weapon down carefully. Jarod excused himself from the room so she could change. With her brother gone, Maiev reached behind her to awkwardly tug at the ties that held up her priestess robes. After some fighting with the knots, the garment fell away, sliding down her slender body and pooling at her feet. She glanced down at her body, curved hips and just enough weight to stop her bones from poking through. Left standing in only her undergarments, she reached for the armor and began strapping herself into it. She fumbled a few times, trying to find the right places for the leather pieces that held it up. Once she had gotten into the chest piece and the pants, she called for her brother to come back in.

Jarod reappeared in the doorway in moments, smiling proudly at his sister. "You could almost be a warrior now," he teased. He crossed the room to her, checked her straps and then made quick the job of helping her fix the shoulders in place. "Why don't you go to the training grounds and try out the blade? I know you want to."

He did know her too well. Maiev was unable to resist the offer. She gave him one last hug, finding it was awkward in all the armor, and then retrieved the umbra crescent off the table before heading out the door.

…

It was a short walk to the training grounds. Maiev was still adjusting to moving in the weight of the armor. It was heavy, and she had the feeling if she was going to wear it, she would need to build some muscles. Then again, she thought to herself, she was a novice priestess now, an official one. There was no real need for her to have a set of plate armor. Or such a daunting looking weapon. Still, to her it felt like confirmation of her transition into being an adult. A symbol of her transcending from the innocent frivolities of childhood, into the reality of the world in which she lived.

Maiev stood before a training dummy, glancing between that and her weapon. She hadn't the slightest idea how to use it; she had never received any training in that sort of thing. Tucking a strand of pink hair behind her ear, wishing she had tied it back before leaving. Taking a deep breath, she gripped the handle tightly with both hands and started to raise it.

The low sound of dark chuckling caused her to freeze. She looked around quickly but saw no one. "You're going to hurt yourself," came a soft, melodic voice. A moment later, none other than Illidan Stormrage came stalking out of the shadows. "First of all, this is a one handed weapon."

Maiev stared up at him for a long moment, struggling to find her voice. Her cheeks had turned slightly red and she was suddenly feeling very self conscious standing before him. He was taller than her, enough that she had to tilt her head back a little just to look at him, which made him feel almost imposing and intimidating even though he was smirking lazily at her in the least threatening of ways. He was standing a foot or so away, but Maiev didn't think she had even seen him this close before, nothing more than stealing a glance here and there when he happened to be around. Still, she was already aware of how good looking he was, how charming he came across. It was just different when he was standing so near and looking at her so intently.

"Oh," was the brilliant reply she came up with, when at last she was able to find her voice. She felt stupid, just standing there with her eyes wide, her knuckled quickly turning white as she gripped the handle of her weapon tighter. "I, uh-"

"You are one of the new priestesses," Illidan said then, cutting her off from whatever she had been about to say. "I recognize you from the ceremony tonight." Maiev couldn't ignore the slight twinge in her stomach. The fact that Illidan Stormrage recognized her at all made her feel slightly faint. If he noticed, though, he didn't give it away. Instead, he gestured toward her weapon. "May I?"

She nodded slowly, and passed him the umbra crescent. Illidan seemed to have no difficulty holding it, lifting it with ease as he examined each curve and edge. "This is an excellent weapon," he complimented.

"Are you a warrior, then?" She blurted out quickly. Maiev couldn't help but feel overly bashful, not when someone so attractive was standing within touching distance and actually talking to her. It wasn't as if she had any experience in this department. She had always been by herself, just her and the moon.

Illidan finally looked away from the blade, back over at her. "No," he replied simply. "But it never hurts to have some understanding of how to wield a weapon." Without another word, he moved past her and began unleashing a fury the likes of which she had never seen. Maiev could only watch on with a fascination in her eyes as he moved, graceful but still so dangerous. It was clear by the way he handled the umbra crescent with ease that he was well practiced, and yet he had told her that he was not a warrior. Watching him move was like watching a fire; she wanted to get closer, but she knew if she moved too close she was only going to get hurt.

When he had finished, he was breathing heavily, his black hair tangled and falling around his face. His eyes were glowing fiercely, and there was a smug smile that tugged at his lips. Maiev hadn't even realized she was holding her breath until she felt the pressure on her chest and had to gasp for some air. Illidan came to her and passed the circled blade back. With trembling hands, she took it from him. After seeing how easily he was able to swing it around, she was even more aware of how heavy it seemed to her.

"You're very good," She murmured at last. Her eyes carefully watched him, standing with his arms crossed over his chest. "How did you learn-"

"You shouldn't be in possession of a weapon you don't know how to use," Illidan said, cutting her off once more. Maiev wanted to be irritated with him, because it was really quite rude, that habit, but she was having a hard time being much of anything except awestruck. "It will only put you in more danger."

Maiev was expecting him to say something else, but he never did. A few painfully long moments of silence passed between them, in which she couldn't quite bring herself to look him in the eye. Anyway, she had a feeling he was lost in his own thoughts, whatever they were. It was almost surreal to her, standing here with a boy she had always known but never really known.

"I should go," Illidan said then, almost like he just needed to break the silence. When he was starting to turn away, Maiev held out a hand.

"Wait!" She said, internally cursing herself for how desperate and breathless the single word came out. She felt her stomach tighten as he stopped walking, glanced at her over his shoulder with a slight gleam in his eyes. "You could- I mean, if you wanted to, maybe...teach me?"

The night elf looked almost amused at her words, or maybe it was just the way she was tripping all over them. Illidan got the feeling she hadn't spent a lot of time around people. He almost felt bad for her. She was quite beautiful, he thought to himself, with her pale skin and pink hair and glowing eyes. "Did you not just take your oaths as a priestess?" He asked her, the words teasing. "What use do you have with weapons and armor?"

Somehow, Maiev managed to smile back at him, however timid it must have looked. "Did you not just tell me it never hurts to understand how to use them?"

Illidan opened his mouth, but quickly snapped it shut again. He was caught off guard by her snarky comeback. "I'll think about it," he finally told her. Then he really did turn and leave her there, standing alone with nothing but the moonlight.

Maiev watched him go, hoping he really would think about it, but knowing that he wouldn't think about it nearly as much as she would.


	3. Chapter 3

_**three**_

As it turned out, all of her worrying had been for nothing. Tyrande decided that everything about that night was absolutely perfect. The ceremony itself, and the surprise of Malfurion arriving, even the moon itself looked perfect as it hung in the sky. It was so easy to slip into the familiarity of it all, walking alongside her oldest friend, their hands occasionally brushing as they swung between them.

Malfurion had plenty of stories from his long months away. Tyrande had stories to tell too, but her days spent all but locked away in the temple hardly seemed interesting compared to his. She listened to him intently, laughing from time to time, brushing her hair away from her face so she might steal a glance at him.

At some point, their steps had slowed, and Malfurion was able to slip an arm over her shoulder to pull her into his side. "I really did miss you," he told her, his voice low and gentle.

Tyrande was unable to fight off a smile. "I missed you too," she replied. In fact, she didn't even think she realized how much she had missed him, until she had seen him standing there in the entrance to the temple. The way her heart had swelled at the sight of him, and how she instantly felt at peace in his presence. "I hope you aren't planning on leaving again soon," she added.

Her words had been lighthearted and playful, but the look he gave her in response was completely serious. "I'm not going anywhere," he assured her. Tyrande couldn't help but feel like there was more implied in his words, and she had to lower her gaze to the ground below in attempt to hide her suddenly flustered expression. She shrugged out of his hold, afraid that he would be able to feel her rapid heartbeat as it pulsed through her whole body.

If he was offended by her suddenly pulling away, he did a wonderful job of hiding it. Tyrande continued to walk, but was well aware of him trailing a few steps behind her. She wanted to glance back, see if his expression might give away any of his thoughts, but she didn't dare. Besides, she was attempted to hide her own blush, her skin still tingling from the intensity of his stare and words.

She was distracted only when she heard a soft sound break through the silence that had settled in around the pair. It was barely audible, but still she heard it, a tiny meowing, painful whimpers. Malfurion had started to speak again, but she held up a hand and quieted him quickly. Her brows furrowed slightly as she listened, trying to pick out the direction of the mewls. In a flash of movement she turned and moved. With each step the whines grew louder.

At last she stumbled upon the source. She skidded to a stop among a patch of bushes, Malfurion all but crashing into her small frame as he did the same. "Tyra, what is-"

"Shh," she cut him off with one finger pressed to her lips. With the other hand, she pointed into the shrubs, and his gaze fell upon a small bundle of fur. Curled on the ground lay a small kitten, a striped frostsaber. Its paw was bloodied and badly injured, and the kitten was looking up at the elves with wide, pleading eyes. That was where the whimpering had come from, then.

"She's hurt," Malfurion said, a pang of empathy in his voice. Tyrande supposed that was because of his newly cultivated druidic powers, and his connection to all things living and wild and free.

She nodded, lowering herself gracefully to her knees at the animal's side. "I can heal her," she murmured. She brushed her fingers gently over the black and white fur, smiling slightly when the kitten didn't immediately wince away. "Poor thing," she cooed. Her eyes closing, she cast a flash heal, causing a glowing light to wash over the kitten's body. Malfurion placed a hand on her shoulder, giving her a proud smile.

Tyrande didn't seem to notice, though. She was too busy scooping the saber up into her arms, cradling the small creature, examining its paw. "It seems to be better," she told him then. In a graceful movement, the young elf girl rose to her feet, cuddling the cat against her chest. "I'm going to take her back, and clean her up."

Malfurion certainly wasn't going to protest with her, understanding her need to take care of the little thing. He reached out to gently rub behind the kitten's ear, earning a soft meow. "I'll walk you back," he offered. Tyrande nodded, and fell into step beside him, anxious to get home and take care of the animal. And also, she admitted internally, to get away from the way Malfurion's gaze was so heavy each time it fell on her. Like a pressing weight on her chest that made it hard for her to breathe. She hadn't yet figured out if it was in the good way or not.

At the door to the Temple's living quarters, he reached out to smooth back her hair from her forehead, and took a risk by leaning in to plant a kiss on her skin. Tyrande held her breath and clutched to the kitten, probably tighter than she should have. She relaxed only when he pulled away, and in spite of her rapidly beating heart, managed to muster a smile. "I'm so glad you're home," she told him truthfully, not for the first time that night. "I'll see you tomorrow, perhaps?"

Malfurion nodded his agreement. "Goodnight, Priestess." He bowed his head slightly towards her, a formality that caused her to blush once more, and she darted inside, hoping he hadn't noticed.

…

As promised, Illidan did indeed think about his chance meeting with Maiev after he had left. He recalled the way she had looked up at him with her wide eyes, almost expectant of something, though he hadn't the slightest idea what. He thought of the moonlight reflecting off her soft pink hair and the overly polished armor. But thoughts of Maiev quickly turned to those of Tyrande, and how breathtakingly beautiful she had looked that night, and how he had been so sure that he would finally be able to take her up in his arms and tell her everything.

Leave it up to Malfurion to show up and ruin all of that for him. His perfect brother, who was everything Illidan himself could never be, who knew exactly what he wanted to be and do, and was well on his way to getting all of those things. Illidan felt a sudden anger coursing through his veins, and no matter how hard he tried to shove it back down, it kept rising.

By the time he reached his house, it was impossible to ignore his frustration at the whole situation. For an entire year, Malfurion had been gone. And who had been there to support Tyrande, to quiet all of her fears about joining the Sisterhood? Who had been the one helping her practice the novice spells, and keeping her company when she had to study long into the night? And who had held her, felt her heartbeat in her chest, as they lay out under the stars and the moon?

Illidan scowled a little. Raising a hand, he closed his eyes and blocked out the thoughts as best he could, concentrating until he felt a surge of power move through him. When he opened his eyes, he saw that he had conjured a small flower. It flickered a little in the cool night breeze, as a candle might, threatening to vanish if he didn't focus on it. He felt a little pride at the sight of it, the faint purple glow around it.

It offered only a slight distraction from his thoughts, though, and as they crept back in, the magical petals of the flower began to wilt, falling away until they fizzled out. The more he thought about Tyrande, and about Malfurion, the faster the spell broke.

He was concentrating hard on trying not to let it dissipate completely, and so he didn't even notice that he wasn't alone, until a cat that had appeared out of nowhere was suddenly pouncing him on. Illidan grunted as his body hit the ground, hands flying out behind him. He was ready to attack, but stopped when the cat stepped away, and slowly shifted forms to reveal his brother sitting on the grass beside him, laughing.

Illidan brushed his disheveled black hair away from his face and pushed himself up to his feet. "I highly doubt that was what you were trained to use those skills for," he muttered, brushing off his knees.

Malfurion also rose, still smiling at his twin brother. "Well, at least we know I can use them," he retorted teasingly. A moment of silence passed between them, before he added, "I saw you conjuring. You've gotten quite good, Illidan."

The younger of the two was surprised by the compliment, and he couldn't help but smile a little in return. "I've had time to practice," he said. "I just...don't know what I am supposed to do next."

Malfurion nodded in understanding. They were all at that age now, where they were expected to find the path they would take, their place in the world. He and Tyrande had found their calling already, and had taken the first steps in their training. But Illidan just seemed lost, unsure of what he was supposed to do or where he was supposed to go. Malfurion was worried for his brother, though he could never quite place why.

Anyway, this was supposed to be a happy day, and he had missed him too much to try and pick a fight with him only a few hours after returning. "Let's go inside," he suggested. "We have so much catching up to do."

Illidan nodded in agreement. He really had missed his brother, missed the closeness they had shared in their younger days. Back when it had been the three of them, the brothers and Tyrande, and nothing and no one could ever come between them. Things felt different now that they were older. They had their own duties to see to, and the last year of Malfurion's absence had confirmed to Illidan that nothing was ever going to be able to return to normal for them. Their days of childhood innocence were over.

Malfurion was able to sense that his brother was slipping back into his own head. He crossed the room to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I know something is troubling you," he said seriously. "But I also know you enough to know you're going to tell me you don't want to talk about it."

"I don't want to talk about it," Illidan replied immediately. His lips twitched at the corners, a sure sign that he was trying very hard to remain composed and hide his own amusement.

Malfurion rolled his eyes. "Fine," he scoffed, though it was obvious he was playing along, just as his brother was. They had always been so argumentative, but most of the time it was more in a joking manner than any serious sort of fighting. "What do you want to talk about, then?" He asked. He moved to the table and dropped down into one of the chairs there, pushing a few unruly strands of hair away from his face. Being out in the wild for so many months had left it long and unkempt. It was a small price to pay for all that he had been able to learn, for the things he had never expected he would be able to do.

"How was your night with Tyrande?" Illidan blurted out, coming to sit across from him. The words were biting. That was actually the last thing he actually wanted to talk about. But it was the first thing on his mind, and so it was the first thing that came out of his mouth.

Malfurion frowned a little, picking up on the crispness of his tone. "It was nice," he said slowly, unsure of what exactly Illidan was asking. "I missed her a lot while I was gone. I was so scared that I might come back and find she was with someone else."

Illidan resisted the urge to sneer at the gentleness with which his brother spoke of Tyrande. Under the table his hands had clenched into fists. Of course he knew how Malfurion felt for her. Or at least, how he had felt before setting off into the world. By the looks of things, those feelings hadn't faltered at all in his absence. And suddenly, he got the feeling that none of it mattered. None of his nights with her over the past months mattered at all. Every moment he had spent with her would fade from her memory, blotted out by Malfurion being here now.

The elf shook his head a little, hoping to clear away some of those darker thoughts. Trying to quiet that same rage that had begun to cultivate in his veins. "I'm going to bed," he said suddenly, pushing away from the table and rising to his feet. He didn't want for a reply, just started out of the room.

Malfurion knew better than to try and stop him. When Illidan was in a mood, there wasn't much that could calm him down. The older twin wasn't exactly sure what he had done to upset him, but he didn't spend too much time dwelling or trying to figure it out. Whatever it was, Illidan would surely get past it sooner or later, just as he always did. Malfurion very much doubted there was anything that could ever actually come between them.

Illidan closed his bedroom door a bit too hard, leaning his back against it. He tried to focus on his breaths as they moved in through his nostrils and filled his lungs. Tried to will his heartbeats to slow to a less audible pace. He would not lose her, he thought to himself. Not after trying so hard, and coming so close. He would not allow Malfurion to walk right back into their lives and steal the one thing Illidan had ever worked for. He loved her more than he had ever known to be possible, and he cursed himself repeatedly for waiting so long to tell her that. But Illidan would do whatever it took, stop at nothing, go to the ends of the world and then beyond. Somehow, he would show her how he felt. He just prayed to Elune, and whoever else might be listening, that she would feel the same.


	4. Chapter 4

_**four**_

Maiev wasn't exactly sure how long she had been waiting there, but she was fairly certain it was longer than she should have been. She paced nervously back and forth across the training area, running her hands through her hair until it hung in tangled strands around her face. Her armor was starting to feel heavier with each passing moment, and she had given up on hauling the massive weapon with her, instead leaving it leaning against one of the training dummies.

He wasn't coming, she realized. It was stupid of her to even think he would. And yet, as soon as she had been released from her studies at the temple, Maiev had gone straight home, and strapped herself into each metal piece, and come right to the training grounds. Now, she felt like a naive child, waiting for something that was never going to happen. With a defeated sigh, she turned to retrieve her weapon. She would just go home, and forget all about this nonsense.

As if she could possibly forget about the way she had felt in Illidan's presence.

Maiev shook her head a little, once more pushing her messy hair away from her face. It was hopeless, of course; it just fell right back into place. Just as she was reaching for the umbra crescent, a hand shot out to gently wrap around her wrist. "Leaving so soon?" A low, familiar voice spoke up.

The girl felt her breath hitch in her throat, and slowly raised her gaze to look up into Illidan's eyes. He was smirking slightly, his fingers still wrapped around her small wrist. Finally remembering how to breathe, she snatched her hand away. "I didn't think you were coming," she said. She did her best to keep the words emotionless, but she knew they gave away at least a fraction of her excitement that he was really there.

"I wasn't going to," Illidan said bluntly, shrugging like it was nothing, obviously oblivious to the way her face fell a little. She wanted desperately to believe that he couldn't wait to see her again, that he had been thrilled at the idea of another late night encounter with her. Because then maybe she wouldn't have to feel so silly for wanting it herself.

"What changed your mind?" She asked.

Illidan had moved past her and picked up the umbra crescent, and even though he was staring at it Maiev got the feeling his mind was actually much further off. "I needed a distraction."

Maiev took a deep breath, and in a moment of sudden boldness, replied, "Do you find me distracting, then?"

Illidan tilted his head a little as he looked at her. Her words were forward, but her cheeks were tinted with a blush that matched her hair, and she was looking intently at the grass below. The modesty was a good look for her. "I find you amusing," he replied at last. Eager to change the subject, he held up her blade. "Do you want to learn how to use this, or not?"

Maiev nodded eagerly. She held out her hands towards the weapon, but Illidan kept it out of her reach. "You don't even know how to hold this yet," he chastised. He set the weapon aside in the grass, and in a quick movement he came up behind her, his arms going to wrap around her waist. The girl sucked in an audible breath as she felt his body press against her own. She was aware of every place they touched, of every muscle in his arms that tensed around her trembling form. Illidan shifted her position slightly, moving her into a more defensive state. "Legs apart," he ordered, which only caused her to blush even more profusely.

Once he was satisfied with her pose, he moved away to get the umbra crescent. Maiev felt every muscle in her body ache with rigidity, afraid to shift at all, even to risk breathing. She wondered if Illidan could sense her obvious nervousness, wondered if he could tell what his presence seemed to do to her. She didn't understand why; she had never gotten this way before. But then, no one else had ever been that close to her before.

With the weapon in hand, he returned to where he had just been behind her and once again enveloped her in a close embrace. The weapon was held in front of her, and after a moment he told her to take it. She nodded slightly, her hand trembling almost visibly as they gripped the handle of the curved blade. Illidan moved his own to rest over the top of hers. "Now what?" She asked softly.

"Now, lift it up and swing it," he explained. As quickly as he had spoken, he assisted her in lifting it to her chest level, her right arm crossing over towards her left shoulder as she prepared for the quick swipe of the weapon. Maiev was aware of each muscle in her arm aching as she bore the weight of it. She wondered how long it would take to become accustom to its use.

Illidan guided her along in a much slower version of the attack. He felt her body quivering under the strain; she clearly wasn't used to any sort of physical exertion. After a moment, he disentangled himself from her, taking the blade with him. "You'll need practice," he said, giving her a pointed. "A lot of it. You can barely even lift the damned thing, let alone use it properly."

She couldn't help but feel like she was being chastised, and her gaze fell back to the ground. She could feel an apology forming on her tongue, lips parting, but before it got out his hand was suddenly cupping her chin, forcing her head to tilt up so that her glowing eyes locked with his own. "And don't apologize to me," he said; this time the roughness was edged with an almost playful tone. "I can see it all over your face that you were about to. We all start somewhere, little priestess. It's where we end up that matters."

Maiev nodded, as best she could with his fingertips still pressing into her jaw. She almost opened her mouth to say sorry again, but quickly snapped it shut. Illidan's mouth curved into his usual condescending smirk. "We will meet here each night. By the next moon, I bet you'll be able to swing it all by yourself."

The elf girl wasn't so convinced, but she was too distracted by the realization that she would get to see him and spent time with him every night. She felt a wave of giddiness, accompanied with a sudden grin that overcame her face. Then, remembering herself, she quickly composed her features, though her burning cheeks surely gave her away.

She was blushing again, Illidan noticed. His arms were crossed over his chest as he watched her, tugging nervously at her hair and trying to look anywhere but at him. It made her look even more young and innocent, that rosy tint on her cheeks, and it was far from the confidence he usually saw in Tyrande. Sure, his best friend had her insecurities, but for the most part she was sure of herself and her abilities. But Maiev, she just looked so scared and lost. Both of which were feelings that, though he would never admit to, Illidan understood well.

When she dared to glance his way, he offered her a small smile. But it faded in an instant, and he was back to his usual seriousness. "I'll see you tomorrow. Don't be late."

For the second night in a row, she watched him leave, her heart echoing in the steel cage of the armor that encased her body. "Keep it together, Maiev," she muttered to herself under her breath. But she got the feeling it was already too late for that. Whatever she felt for him, it wasn't going away. Sighing a little, she went to pick up the umbra crescent, and started for home.

…

When Maiev entered her house, it was to find her brother and a few of the other soldiers congregated in the kitchen, talking in low voices. She quickly caught the door so that it wouldn't slam, easing it into place instead. She didn't dare move, for fear of her loud, armored steps echoing and giving her away.

"She's become practically obsessed with it," one of the elves said. "She doesn't sleep. She barely eats. She refuses to go out of her room. And that's not even the worst."

Maiev held in a breath and strained her pointed ears to listen, her back against the wall. She clutched at the blade desperately, feeling the muscles of her arms and the tendons of her wrist begin to throb against its weight.

"What else?" Came a second voice, laced with concern. This one she recognized as her own brother.

The first elf spoke again "One of her personal guards confirmed that she has not had any visitors in the past three days," he explained. "But the queen has been heard talking from within her chambers. No one answers her, and still she goes on as though she were having a full conversation."

A frown creased Maiev's brow. The queen? As in, Queen Azshara? It must have been, because she couldn't even think to name any other queens. She didn't understand what they were talking about. Of course she knew that her brother and his fellow soldiers served the queen, but she supposed that in her mind Azshara had always been this magnificent fantasy person, perhaps too beautiful and perfect to be real.

"And what does she say?" Jarod urged.

"I'm not sure," the elf soldier replied, clearly disappointed. "It is hard to catch all of her words. She mostly rambles on about the Well. And there was something about a portal, and-"

The strain of the crescent finally became too much for Maiev to bear. It slipped from her hands, hitting the floor with a loud crash. She flinched, her shoulders tensing up and her eyes squeezing shut.

"Maiev?" Jarod appeared in the doorway, alarm clear in his face. "I thought you were sleeping."

She looked back at him with wide eyes, frozen into silence. She was overly aware of the other soldiers, gathered behind her brother and watching her cautiously. Whatever they had been talking about, clearly no one else was meant to hear. "I...I was at the training grounds," she finally explained. Desperate to break his gaze, she bent down to hoist her weapon back up off the ground. "I-I didn't mean-"

Her brother held up a hand to cut her off. "It's alright," Jarod said, his tone softening. He glanced over his shoulder at the other elf men. "They were just leaving." It was all the hint they needed. The trio of soldiers shuffled past him and to the door. They murmured their farewells to him, as well as to Maiev. She bowed her head, but it was more to hide her fearful expression than out of any form of respect.

The door slammed shut, an uncomfortable silence settling over the siblings. "What all did you hear?" Jarod asked carefully.

Maiev chewed at the insides of her cheeks. She winced when she bit down too hard and the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. "Nothing," she finally answered, in a tone cool and level. "I heard nothing."

Jarod frowned for but a second, before a look of understanding came over his face. He nodded slowly, going to his sister and pulling her into a quick hug. "Good girl," he praised, stroking her long hair. "Go to sleep now, child."

Though his voice was soft, the words were a command. She knew better than argue. Pulling free of his grasp, she moved towards the stairs. She stopped only when she heard the sound of her name called out to her. When she looked back, Jarod was smiling a little. "The armor really does look good on you," he complimented. "Have you learned how to use the umbra crescent?"

"I'm working on it," she assured him. With a hint of excitement, she added, "I'll practice every night."

Jarod laughed a little at her eagerness. "Just don't forget about your duties to Elune." He meant the words to be joking, but for some reason they struck a chord with the girl. Did her goddess feel slighted by her interest in learning combative skills? Elune was by nature a peaceful goddess, after all.

Maiev excused herself to her bedroom. She began to strip off the armor, laying the pieces out carefully in the corner of the room. In only her undergarments, she crossed to the open window and knelt down before it. The stars were all aglow above Suramar, but the moon was waning. She stared at it for a few silent moments before closing her eyes, vowing she would say a few extra prayers just in case.


	5. Chapter 5

_**five**_

Tyrande had her books and journals gathered long before the High Priestess dismissed them from their lessons. As soon as they were free to go, she was on her feet and moving towards the door of their classroom. She had plans that night, and had barely been able to focus at all throughout their discussions. Now she was eager to get home and clean herself up, maybe attempt to do something with her unruly navy hair.

"Tyra, wait up!" An overly high-pitched voice called out to her. A moment later, a purple haired girl had fallen into place beside her.

Tyrande offered up a smile to her sister. "Hello, Ellison," she greeted.

The elf dipped her head a little in reply. "Some of us were going to head to the gardens and study a bit more. You want to come along?" Biting at her bottom lip, Ellison quickly added. "Not that you need it. If anything, you could lead the session, since you already have everything down perfectly."

Tyrande was only half listening, but she remembered to give her a grateful look for the compliment. "I would love to," she assured her. "But I already have plans."

Apparently the tone of her voice gave her away. Ellison was immediately grinning, her arm linking in Tyrande's and taking her by surprise. "Who with?" She asked excitedly, all but jumping up and down as they walked through the corridors of the temple. Ellison was notorious for getting herself worked up and giddy, talking so fast it was impossible to pull her words apart. She was also a hopeless gossip, and was pretty much solely responsible for any and all rumors that came up among the younger members of the Sisterhood. No doubt anything Tyrande said to her would get twisted around and told to everyone that was willing to listen. And more than likely, a hand of people who weren't. "I mean, I could take a guess, and I would probably be right..."

Tyrande rolled her eyes a little and willed her cheeks to stop tinting with pink. "I'm just going to see Malfurion and Illidan," she replied. The idea had never seemed like a huge ordeal to her. The trio had been all but inseparable since they were just children, and that wasn't going to be changing anytime soon. Not if she had any say in it.

Ellison let out an airy sigh, tilting her head a little. "You're so lucky, Tyrande. You're blessed by Elune _and_ you get to spend your free time with both of the Stormrage brothers." Her voice sounded far off and dazed. "Are they courting you yet? I cant imagine how hard that must be for you, having to pick just one."

"Pick?" Tyrande echoed, her long brows coming together in a frown. "I don't think-"

"Well, when you decide which one you're going with, I better be the first to know," Ellison spoke over her, effectively cutting her off. "Because I have instant claims to the other one."

Tyrande could not have been happier to reach the temple's living quarters. "I'll see you tomorrow," she said quickly before darting off. Once she was inside her bedroom, she closed the door and let out a deep sigh. Although her room at the temple was small, it felt like home to her. At least, it had been home for the past few years. It wasn't required for the priestesses to live there, but after Tyrande's parents had died, it was the only place left she had to go. When there was nowhere, Elune took her in.

She was greeted instantly by the soft sounds of purring as the frostsaber kitten came to brush against her ankles. "I missed you too, Ash'alah," she said to the animal, stepping over her carefully. Tyrande set her books atop her bed and turned to kneel before the kitten so that she could pet her between the ears, which seemed to be her permanently favorite spot. Ellison's words seemed to be resounding loudly in her head. She would not let herself dwell too much on them, though. It was pointless, really. There was nothing that could come between the three of them. She was never going to have to 'pick', as her friend had put it. Why would she?

But the longer she thought about it, as she pulled her robes up over her head and cast them aside, as she found her brush discarded among books and journals and started to rake it through her tangles, the more she started to understand what Ellison had said.

Tyrande was no fool. She had known for as long as she could remember that Malfurion had feelings for her. He was always doting on her, always looking out for her, even when they were kids. She remembered once when they had wandered too far into the woods, and he had held her hand the whole time, swearing to her that the trees would tell them the way home. And even when they had been out in the woods just a few days past, she had felt it, the way he spoke so seriously to her about never leaving.

And then there was Illidan. The last year with him had been amazing, and he had done nothing but keep her sane as she approached the biggest event of her life thus far. Illidan had been the one to keep her grounded when the whole world seemed to be caving in around her. He had provided her with strength when she had none, and for that she would be forever grateful to him. But she was also aware of the way his eyes always seemed to linger on her for a moment too long, with a dangerously intense hunger.

What if Ellison was right, and they were both planning to try and win her heart? Tyrande felt a sharp surge of anxiety at the thought. They were her best friends, and she did love them both, of course. The idea of having to choose either of them over the other was nearly unbearable. Illidan and Malfurion couldn't even be compared. They were two completely different people, regardless of being twins.

Shaking her head, she tried in vain to clear her thoughts. She was getting all worked up over nothing. Ellison was probably just trying to stir up some new drama, as usual. Tyrande should have known better than to fall prey to her vicious social games. The elf turned towards her mirror, retrieving her brush to begin working it through her tangled tresses. She was due to meet the brothers soon, and she was nowhere near ready. She would go, and everything would be just as it had always been between them. Everything was going to be fine.

…

Maybe he was overthinking things, but Illidan had a bad feeling about that night. Maybe it was because the moon had finally reached full wane, and so it was nowhere to be seen. It felt like a bad omen.

Tyrande should have been there by now, but neither of the brothers were really that surprised that she was late. While Illidan was restless and pacing the length of the kitchen, Malfurion was perched by the fire stirring some sort of stew that he had concocted. Illidan was fairly convinced there was nothing his brother couldn't do. At least it smelled good.

When he heard the knock on the door, Illidan jumped where he stood, spinning around to go and let her in. A slow smile spread over his face as he saw her standing there, wearing a sheer white dress, her blue hair falling in messy waves over her shoulders. "You look beautiful," he said as his only greeting.

Tyrande murmured a thanks, coming inside. Illidan closed the door behind her. The urge to just take her into his arms and tell her just how much she meant to him was overwhelming, but with Malfurion only in the next room it was hardly the time or place. Instead he forced himself to turn away and retreat back into the kitchen. Tyrande had little choice but to trail behind him.

Malfurion was just finishing up the food, but paused when he saw the pair appear in the doorway. He smiled at the sight of her, looking ever the part of a priestess. She crossed the room to pull him into a quick hug. From where he stood leaning against the wall, Illidan felt his hands clench into fists at his sides, but he took a long breath and managed to relax. "You're just in time," Malfurion said. "The food just finished."

Once the trio had gotten their food and taken their seats, it was easy to slip back into their usual ways. For a few, precious hours, it was like nothing had ever happened, like Malfurion had never left, and Tyrande had never gotten so busy, and they were just teenagers again without the pressures of the world to come between them. They talked about everything and nothing all at once, laughing as they recounted tales from childhood.

As the time slipped away, Tyrande was able to banish any lingering concern over what Ellison had said. She had nothing to worry about. She smiled at each of them, a yawn escaping her lips. "It's late," she mumbled, the words contorted.

Across from her, Illidan's expression suddenly shifted into a frown. He had that sensation that he was forgetting something, but he couldn't seem to remember what. It took a few moments for it to click, and then he was pushing his chair back and rising quickly to his feet. "Dammit," he muttered. He was late to meet Maiev. Knowing the poor girl, she was going to think he had grown tired of her already, and he would spend more time assuring her that he hadn't than actually training her on anything.

"Illidan, what's wrong?" Tyrande asked him, concern etched into her features and echoing in her tone.

"I have somewhere to be," he answered plainly. Not that he wanted to leave; it was nice to pretend things were still the same between them and they were all going to be inseparable forever. And any time spent with Tyrande was time that he cherished, and even though his brother was often a source of annoyance for him, Illidan was happy to get to see him after the many months he had been gone.

He should have known that answer wouldn't be good enough for them. As he tried to move around them, Tyrande's hand stretched out to wrap around his wrist. "Where?" She asked, her voice a strange balance of pleading and demanding. He swore for a split second she was actually pouting, though Tyrande would never admit to any such thing.

Illidan opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off by Malfurion's sudden laughter. Both he and Tyrande looked to the druid with questioning stares. "Are you sneaking off to see some girl?" His tone was teasing and his eyes were sparkling deviously, which meant he had no idea how true his words were. Illidan was overly aware of the fact that Tyrande had suddenly retracted her hold on his wrist.

The night elf tried to shake his head. "I'm not- I mean, it's not like that," he said.

"What's her name?" Malfurion pressed on, ignoring how his brother tried to deny it.

At the same time, Tyrande snapped, "Why are you keeping her a secret from us?"

Illidan's amber eyes flickered between the two of them. He had a feeling they weren't going to let up until he told them what they wanted to hear. He let out a sigh, making no attempt to hide his frustration with the whole thing. "Her name is Maiev," he retorted. He thought about telling them what he was really doing with her, but decided that if they were so intent on making it into something it was not, he would leave them to draw their own conclusions. Without waiting for any reply, he left, the door slamming into place behind him.

For a long moment, Tyrande and Malfurion sat in silence. "I guess he really didn't want to tell us," Malfurion finally said with a shrug. He rose from his chair and started to clean up the remnants of their dinner.

Tyrande barely even registered that he had spoken. She was staring off blankly ahead, her lips turned down just slightly. There was only one Maiev she knew, and that was one of her fellow priestesses. She was quiet and shy, and kept to herself. Tyrande was having a hard time imagining her with Illidan, imposing as he tended to be. And why had he tried to keep it from them?

Malfurion's hand fell suddenly and gently on her shoulder, making her flinch in surprise. Are you alright?"

She nodded, her eyes falling shut as he slowly rubbed his fingers against her tensed muscles. Her skin was left exposed by the dress she wore. It felt electrified by his touch. But her mind was still dwelling on the whole scene with Illidan. She didn't know why it bothered her so much to begin with. Maybe it was because for their entire life, she had been the only girl in his life. In either of their lives, really. And the sudden realization that eventually that was going to change, that it already _had_ changed, was a hard one to face.

Forcing her eyes to open, she tried to ignore the thoughts, but they kept pushing their way back in. All night, she had been so convinced that things would always stay them same between her and her oldest friends. But this new revelation was sinking in hard and fast, and Tyrande knew now that she had been clinging to a lie the entire time.

…

Maiev pressed her fingertips into the dewy grass, feeling each blade shift under her touch. It was uncomfortable, laying in her armor like that, and she had long since lost track of how long she had been there. For a while, she had been measuring seconds by counting the stars above head, but she kept losing track and having to start over, so she soon gave up on that.

After a while, she pushed herself into a seated position. It was chilly and she was tired. The last thing she wanted to do was fall asleep out here in her armor and end up missing her lessons at the temple. She glanced over at her blade where it had been discarded in the grass. Sighing a little, she crawled over to it and traced the flat surface with her fingertips. The metal was smooth and unscathed.

She didn't realize she was crying until she felt the wetness of a few stray tears fall onto the back of her hand. She watched silently as they rolled away over her skin. Then, deciding this whole thing was far too pathetic, she pushed herself up to her feet. She struggled against the weight of the armor, but finally managed. Bending down, she picked up the umbra crescent, holding it tightly as she started to leave the training grounds.

"Maiev, wait." She froze in place as her name was called out in a rushed tone. She didn't have to look to know that it was Illidan who had appeared in the clearing, so she kept her gaze straight ahead. Anyway, she didn't want him to see her crying. At this rate, she was going to need a helmet so that she could always conceal her emotions and stop them from getting in the way.

Maiev tightened her grip until her knuckles turned white. "Leave me alone," she said. She was trying to sound strong but her voice was quivering. She just felt so foolish. Her unstable emotions surely signified her attachment to him. "I'm going home, Illidan."

A silent sigh escaped his lips as he watched her. She was standing perfectly motionless, her back to him, shoulders squared. But it was clear in her voice when she finally spoke that she was upset. "I'm sorry I was late," he offered. Maiev was surprised by the sincerity of his words. She stifled another cry, felt her body start to relax a little. "I was with my brother and Tyrande," he went on. "I just lost track of time."

Shifting her hold on the weapon to one hand, she used the other to wipe the tears away from her face. "It's alright," she answered, at last turning to face him. "I- I don't know what came over me. I apologize." Her voice had stopped shaking now, though her eyes were still rimmed with red, giving away the fact that she had been crying. Over him. Illidan felt a pang of hurt in his chest, but he wasn't quite sure why. He wanted to tell her that he was sorry again, just to make sure she knew it. He very rarely ever felt guilt over things. Or maybe he had just never done enough to feel guilty about, but for some reason the idea of hurting the elf girl made him feel terrible.

But Maiev was already smiling a little, attempting to hoist up the weapon. "Do you want to teach me how to use this, or not?" She asked, playing off what he had said to her the first night of their training. The wordplay was not lost on Illidan, who smirked as he came over to her. He was relieved that he had been forgiven, and also surprised at just how relieved he actually felt.

With a sharp laugh, he yanked the blade from her grasp. "Of course," he said. "Get in the stance I showed you yesterday."

Maiev did as she was instructed, swallowing hard as Illidan circled her and examined her pose. Her cheeks were, not surprisingly, flared up at the inspection. Her feelings towards him were getting out of control, and she didn't know how to stop them. Each time he came around, it consumed her entirely, until all that existed was him and she needed nothing else. And although there was a rational part of her mind that was certain she was only setting herself up for hurt and disappointment, she couldn't bring herself to care. When it came to Illidan Stormrage, she would take what she could get, she decided, whatever that ended up being.


	6. Chapter 6

_**six**_

"I really need to go," Tyrande murmured sleepily, stretching her arms above her head. She had stayed much too late, and now the first tendrils of daylight were streaking the sky, pushing out the night to make room for the new day. She was sitting in the grass outside Malfurion's house, where they had been for the last several hours, ever since the last time she had tried to say she needed to leave. "I have lessons in a few hours."

From where he sat beside her, Malfurion slung an arm over Tyrande's shoulders, pulling her in against his side. "There's no point in sleeping now," he told her. Besides, he was not quite ready to let this perfect night come to an end. Just the two of them, sitting under the stars until they were overrun by the dawn, their hands brushing now and again. It was all he had thought about when he was away, just coming home to her.

Tyrande wriggled against his hold, which only made him clutch her tighter. A giggle escaped her lips as she struggled to break free, but Malfurion lifted her up into his lap. She gave up on fighting and relaxed into his hold. "Fine," she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and looking up at him. "You win. Happy now?" She tried to keep a scowl on her face, but it was hard to resist the way he was grinning triumphantly.

"Very," he assured her. For a long moment, they were perfectly still and silent, locked in a stare. Tyrande felt her pulse quicken at the closeness between their bodies and the intensity of his gaze. Her eyes fluttered shut as she felt his hand move to cup the side of her face. She was trying to focus on her thoughts, but they were flickering out before she could even comprehend any of them. All she knew was that her heart was thudding so loud she was certain he could hear it too, and her back was arching, and his fingers were tangled in her long hair, and everything about it felt perfect.

"Tyrande," Malfurion murmured softly, his thumb tracing her jawline. "You're so beautiful, Tyrande." Before she had time to properly respond, he pulled her up and pressed his lips to hers. For a split second, her eyes were wide open, every muscle in her body tensed up. But then she slowly relaxed, her eyes closing as she slipped her arms around his neck. Her stomach was in knots, but in a good way, she thought. His hand was at the back of her neck to hold her in place. It was everything she had ever imagined it to be, not that Tyrande would ever admit to having imagined it.

This was how Illidan found them.

Maiev had insisted on practicing for the usual amount of time, and since they had gotten such a late start, that had taken them throughout almost the entire night. By the end, she was barely able to keep her eyes open, let alone lift that monstrous weapon. And still Illidan had to insist she go home and get some sleep. That girl was going to be the death of him.

He had taken his time going home, walking slow and enjoying the perfect calm of the morning. The way the dew had gathered on the grass, and the first rays of light were spilling through the canopy of the trees. It was all so peaceful, and for a few moments Illidan was able to forget all of the things that usually plagued his mind.

And then he saw them, and all of that was shattered. For a few seconds, he could do nothing but stand there in shock, watching as Tyrande pressed herself closer against Malfurion and his brother held her, pulled her down onto his chest. His mouth had opened slightly, heart pounding violently, a warm sensation spreading from his chest and down to the tips of his fingers.

When he finally remembered how to breathe, he forced himself to turn away, and before he knew it he had taken off into the woods. He didn't know where he was going, and he didn't particularly care. He just needed to put as much distance between himself and them as possible before he completely lost it. The burning in his veins was growing stronger, the anger that drove him to press on, until he was breathless and lost.

Illidan finally had no choice but to stop, because he couldn't seem to make his lungs work anymore. He fell forward into the damp grass and crawled over to a tree, propping himself up against it. He was close to the Eternal Palace now; he could see it looming imposingly over him. Closing his eyes, he dug his fingers into the dirt and willed the images to go away, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make it stop. The rapid beating in his chest like being stabbed repeatedly, the fire that raced through his veins and consumed him.

Snapping his eyes open, he lifted his hands to see that the ground below them was scorched, the grass blackened and charred. He stared at it for a moment longer than necessary before pushing himself up to his feet. He would not break down. He would not succumb to that weakness. He would give into the anger and the flames, but never the sorrow.

Raising his hands out in front of him, Illidan concentrated on the fire in him, channeling it until he saw it twisting and licking at his fingertips, completely under his control. Illidan watched with dull fascination as they swirled up his wrist and forearm but never actually burned him. For a brief moment, he thought about releasing it. What did he care if the whole damn forest burned to the ground around them? Maybe then in the wake of the smoke and ash Malfurion could comprehend even a fraction of the pain Illidan felt just then.

He might have actually done it, had a low voice not spoken out from behind him. "You are very skilled," the man called out to him, "To exercise control of something so dangerous at such a young age."

Illidan whirled around in an instant, the flames vanishing back into his hands. He almost snapped at the man to leave him alone, the words were forming on his tongue, but then he saw the telltale armor this man wore. This was one of the queen's soldiers; Illidan's eyes traveled over the silver and emerald plate armor, ornamented with golden raven heads on the shoulders and chest piece. Their enchanted eyes glowed in the lingering darkness of the dawn. Illidan might not have been too well versed in the world of the Highborne, with their politics and scandals and elite social rankings, but anyone in Suramar would have been able to recognize the armor. Remembering himself, he bowed his head at the compliment. "Thank you, Lord Ravencrest."

The soldier lifted his chin a little, as though he was examining Illidan. Maybe searching, though the elf hadn't the slightest idea what for. Maybe just trying to give off an air of importance and assert his status. "Who trained you?" The man finally asked.

Illidan dared to look him right in the eyes, a bit of the fires from within him reflecting in his gaze. The man before him did not intimidate him, but that didn't mean he didn't have respect for him. "I trained myself," he replied confidently.

At first, Illidan thought Ravencrest might be offended or upset by his tone, but the look on the warrior's face was almost proud. "That is an even more impressive feat, then," he praised. "What is your name?"

"Illidan Stormrage," he answered.

The great soldier nodded slowly. "Perhaps you would grant me the privilege of witnessing more of your impressive talents?" He asked then.

For a moment, Illidan was very nearly in shock, but then he swallowed back the excitement and nodded eagerly. He was surprised at how excited he actually felt; though, really, he shouldn't have been. It was a huge honor, having one of the most reputable soldiers known to Suramar to request his presence. "I would be glad to show you," he assured the man.

Ravencrest offered up a small smile, and began away towards the training grounds. Illidan took that as an invitation to follow him. For now, at least, he had pushed all other thoughts aside, focused instead on this sudden and surreal opportunity that seemed to have stumbled upon him. Maybe things were finally going to turn around for him. Maybe this would be the beginning of finding his place in the world. Whatever it was, he would be ready for it.

…

Maiev was doing her best to focus on her lessons, or at least that was what she told herself. But her exhaustion and the fact that her mind was clouded with other things was making it hard to concentrate. Instead she was mostly just scribbling little pictures across her scrolls, spacing out as she replayed the previous night.

She hated to admit how afraid she had been at the prospect of Illidan abandoning her. She hated the idea of what seemed to be turning quickly into an obsession. She was sure he never thought of her outside of their little practice sessions. And why would he? He had his brother and Tyrande, and for his whole life that had been enough for him. She was no one special, really, and the idea that he could ever need her as well was preposterous.

Maiev considered the possibility of simply telling him how she felt, but of course that was impossible to do if she herself didn't fully know. She liked him, yes, and she liked being around him. She had always sought out solitude before; she had enjoyed being alone. Now he had changed all of that. She had never met someone who could do that to her, just make her want to cling on to their very existence like it was all she had.

"Miss Shadowsong." The call of her name caused Maiev's head to snap up. A few drops of ink dripped onto her paper. The High Priestess was looking right at her with a slightly condescending expression. Maiev could feel her cheeks turning to match the pink color of her hair. "Do you know the answer?"

Maiev, of course, didn't even know the question, and when she lowered her gaze to her desk, everyone else knew it too. The High Priestess made a clicking noise with her tongue. "We were discussing the bonds with the Nightsabers," she said, as if it was the most obvious thing. In a quick movement, she turned away. "Miss Whisperwind. Why did our goddess make the sabers black and white?"

Tyrande's answer was instant. "So that they are able to camouflage with us, Priestess." Maiev swore Tyrande threw an apologetic glance her way, to which she only scowled. She wasn't jealous; she would swear it over and over again. It just wasn't fair that Tyrande had everything, and then to top it off she had to be a showoff about it.

Maiev kept her head down for the rest of the lesson, and when they were dismissed she was the first one out of her seat. She pushed through the door, intent on trying to rest a little before she had to go and meet Illidan, but she was stopped in the corridor by a hand on her shoulder. Spinning around, she saw Tyrande standing behind her with a small smile. The navy haired elf was taller by a few inches, and unnaturally skinny. "Maiev, hey," she greeted, as if they were the best of friends.

Maiev was too tired to play along. "What do you want?" She asked, her voice indifferent.

A flicker of hurt crossed Tyrande's face. She looked like she had some biting remark on her tongue, but she was holding it back. If Maiev didn't want to bother with small talk, then she would just cut right to the point. "What's been going on with you and Illidan?"

For some reason, that hadn't been the question Maiev had been expecting. She had thought it would be something about the lessons, maybe an offer to tutor her because Tyrande was just such a good person like that. Maiev didn't even know Illidan had told anyone about their little meetings. But then again, she wasn't exactly surprised that Tyrande knew. "Nothing," she finally replied with a shrug. It was the truth. And even if it wasn't, it really wasn't anybody's business but her own. "Why? Am I encroaching on your territory or something?" The pink haired girl had turned and started to retreat.

Tyrande furrowed her brows and quickly moved to fall into place at her side. "No…" she said, though not in the most convincing of tones. "No, we aren't...Illidan and I are just friends."

Maiev chewed at her bottom lip for a moment. "Good. Illidan and I are just friends as well," she replied with a short nod. The twisting in her stomach made her feel like she was lying. The way Tyrande was working very hard to stare straight ahead made her feel like maybe she wasn't the only one. The fact that Tyrande had actually approached her about the whole thing put her on edge. The idea of having to compete with her was daunting, because Maiev knew there was just no way she could do it.

She had to force those thoughts away. Surely she would have known if there was something going on between the two of them; either Illidan would have mentioned it, or Tyrande would go out of her way to make it known. The other girl had said they were just friends, and for her own sanity Maiev had to believe that.

She glanced over the see that Tyrande was still walking at her side, though she looked fairly lost in her own thoughts. Even when she was frowning, she was beautiful. She must have been staring, because suddenly the other girl's head shot up and she locked eyes with Maiev. "Can I ask you something?" She murmured, her voice much softer than it had been only a moment ago. Maiev had a feeling she was going to ask regardless of what she said, so she nodded. Tyrande let out a little sigh. "Do you think Elune always knows what she's doing?"

For some reason, Maiev had this feeling that Tyrande was only half talking about the Moon Goddess. The sudden change in the atmosphere had thrown her off, and the fact that the older girl was once again acting like they were friends was more than she knew what to do with. Still, she managed a shrug. "I hope so," was all she replied. "Because if Elune doesn't even have it figured out, then there really is no hope for the rest of us."


	7. Chapter 7

_**seven**_

The sound of metal against metal filled the clearing of the training ground. The echo reverberated off the trees, ringing in Illidan's ears. He tightened his hold on the sword and lunged at Ravencrest once more, but the lord easily dodged him. He countered the attack with his own massive blade, the impact sending Illidan staggering back a few steps.

The night elf regained his footing quickly and summoned up a ball of flame that twisted menacingly around his hand. Ravencrest's eyes gleamed with something close to pride. "Enough," he said, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Illidan's only reply was a slight smirk as he retracted the flames. Ravencrest let out an easy laugh, putting his blade back in its sheath. They had spent the past week practicing one on one together, and the soldier had been consistently impressed with the young elf's abilities. He had a greatness about him that made Ravencrest believe he would accomplish many things in his life.

Illidan himself had never felt this good about anything. The past few days he had spent training with the great soldier had been intense, but also incredibly rewarding. He had never felt so capable, like he was actually able to do something, like he had a purpose. It was as if that emptiness he had been working hard to ignore was finally being filled. After so many sleepless nights of worrying, it seemed like maybe he had finally found his path.

"You possess much potential," Ravencrest told him, not for the first time. It didn't change the fact that Illidan reveled in the compliment each and every time. He was finally being noticed by someone, instead of feeling like he only ever lived in Malfurion's shadow. And there was the power, too, the raw feeling of the magic that coursed through his very veins, becoming a part of him. It was the most blissful feeling, that burning ache and strength and need for more. The fire seared inside of him.

He was about to speak up and thank his new trainer, but was interrupted by the sound of an unfamiliar voice calling out to Lord Ravencrest. The soldier turned to face the messenger elf, who looked to be even smaller before his muscled body. "Mi'lord," he stammered out. "The Queen has requested your presence immediately, if you would."

Ravencrest nodding without even a question, and glanced back over his shoulder at Illidan, who was standing with his arms crossed, trying not to feel too out of place. Seeing his almost uncomfortable pose, Ravencrest cracked a grin. "I take it you have never seen the Eternal Palace, then?" Illidan shook his head. The soldier let out a biting laugh. "Come on, then, kid. Her Majesty hates to be kept waiting."

…

The Eternal Palace was even more impressively beautiful than Illidan could have imagined. He had seen it looming against the sky for all his life, but actually seeing it before him was an entirely different story. It was massive and daunting; high spires stabbed at the clouds as they drifted past. The gate was carved ornately with the symbol of the Highborne. It was interesting, how they had all lived so close together and still Illidan felt like somehow he was entering a whole different world as he followed Ravencrest inside. Their steps echoed on the reflective marble floors.

Illidan was distracted trying to memorize every beautiful thing in sight, and he had to keep glancing back at Ravencrest to make sure he didn't get separated. He knew he was out of place here, but as long as he had the famed soldier looking after him, he would be protected. Or at least, he hoped so.

Eventually, they came to a stop outside a pair of closed double doors. A guard stood on either side, imposing swords dangling at their sides. Illidan eyed them only for a moment before fixating his stare on the floor. "Leave us," Ravencrest commanded the guards. Neither said a word, but in sync they moved from the door and disappeared down the corridor. "You'll have to wait out here, Illidan," the soldier said then. "I shouldn't be too long."

Illidan nodded quickly. For the first few moments, he remained still, up against a wall as he tried to stay inconspicuous and out of sight. But after a few moments, he was able to make out the low, muffled sounds of shouting. No words made it through the walls, so it was impossible to tell what they were arguing about. Maybe they weren't even arguing at all, but rather talking excitedly about something.

The sound of something shattering broke through the air. No, they were definitely fighting.

Overwhelmed by his usual curiously, Illidan crept forward carefully, silently, so that he was able to press his ear to the door and strain to hear what was being said within. It was hard to imagine the Queen, in all her regality and superiority, ever raising her voice to shout. She must have been really upset, then. Illidan did not envy Ravencrest in that moment.

"You will do as I say," came a cold, clipped voice from within. That was the Queen, then. Her voice was deeper than he had imagined, for some reason. "I want guards stationed around the Well."

Ravencrest's low voice bellowed out in reply. "This is foolish, my Queen. This business with the Well is dangerous. You should-"

"Do not proceed to tell me what to do!" She snapped. "The Well is the source of our power, our very life. It needs to be protected at all costs. Everything I am doing is for my people."

Whatever Ravencrest said in response, Illidan did not get to hear, for a moment later a hand fell heavily upon his shoulder. Illidan all but leapt away from the door, fully ready to defend himself against whoever had grabbed him. But when he spun around all he saw was the deviously grinning face of a Highborne woman. She was wearing the most provocative dress he had ever seen, green and clinging to all her curves. Her hair was pinned up around her face, her smirking lips painted red. She was digging her pointed nails into his flesh.

"Eavesdropping, are we, darling?" She all but purred. Illidan tried to shake free of her hold, but her grip on him was surprisingly strong. He started to open his mouth in protest, but snapped it shut again as he watched her gaze rake over his body, lingering, searching. "You are Ravencrest's new protégé, are you not?" He wanted to ask her how she knew that, but her gleaming eyes and vicious smile kept him quiet. As if she could read his thoughts, she said, "I make it my business to know everything that is going on around here."

Illidan finally managed to break free. There were angry red marks left on his skin where her nails had just been. "Who are you, exactly?" He was unable to keep the biting tone out of his voice.

She laughed in reply. It was cold and heartless and anything but humorous. "My name is Lady Vashj," she said, in the kind of voice that indicated he should have already known that. Not that there was any way he would have.

When Ravencrest emerged from the chambers, Illidan could not have been happier to see him. The soldier didn't look thrilled, though, his cheeks flushed with anger. He didn't even acknowledge Vashj as he stormed past them down the corridor, a move which didn't seem to please the Highborne woman. Illidan was thankful for the excuse to turn away from her and trail after his leader, keeping his head down and trying to forget all that had just happened, because that seemed a better alternative than trying to comprehend it.

…

For the next week, Tyrande didn't leave the temple once. She wasn't ready to have to deal with all that had happened, to think about the fact that she had kissed Malfurion. She didn't know what she was supposed to do from here. It was easier to focus on her studies than to have to face the fact that her lifelong friendship was ruined, and there were only two options left over to choose from.

She knew that she didn't want to lose him. Of course she didn't. He had been a part of her world for so long, it was impossible to imagine a day without him. The long months that he had been away were some of the hardest of her life. But evidently he was looking for more from her than just the simplicity of their childhood friendship. She just wasn't sure she was ready for all that, when there was already so much going on in her life.

"Are you going to stop moping around any time soon?" Ellison asked from where she lay on Tyrande's bed. She was propped up on her elbows, feet were kicked up in the air as she read from one of her books. Or, at least pretended to read. "I swear, it depresses me just to be around you."

"Then leave," Tyrande snapped without looking up from her own notes. She instantly regretted the harsh tone, even more so when she glanced up through her lashes to see the hurt expression on Ellison's face. She gave an apologetic look. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "I just...have so much on my mind I don't even know where to start."

"That doesn't mean you can be a bitch to your friends," Ellison scowled, snapping her book closed with a soft thud. But then she slid off the bed onto the floor and came over to where Tyrande was sitting. Sitting on her knees, she reached out absently to pet the nightsaber sleeping soundly on the floor, just a ball of fur that rose and fell with each steady breath. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Tyrande couldn't quite bring herself to meet her friend's concerned gaze. She knew what a gossip Ellison was, and she really, really did not want all of her personal problems being spread all over the temple. But just then, she really needed someone to vent to, and Ellison was the only one there. Not to mention, she was the only one who had even bothered to ask Tyrande if she was okay all week long.

So she finally broke down, and she told Ellison what had happened, and a few tears even escaped her eyes. She couldn't remember the last time she had cried; that was how long it had been. The other elf girl brushed her hair away from her dampened cheeks with gentle fingers, tucking them behind her long ears. Surprisingly, she listened in silence.

When at last Tyrande had stopped talking, and her tears had stopped, Ellison spoke. "Have you tried, you know, just telling him any of this?" She asked seriously. Such a simple solution. Tyrande was almost astounded Ellison had been the one to suggest it. "I mean, I don't really know Malfurion all that well, but he seems like a pretty reasonable guy. And he's your best friend. Just tell him you aren't ready for anything like that. He'll understand."

Tyrande nodded numbly. It made perfect sense, and she felt so stupid for not thinking of it sooner. She was making a huge deal out of nothing at all. Malfurion was her friend; he would understand. She just need time, though she wasn't exactly sure what for. To think, maybe. And figure out if she was ready to commit herself for a lifetime to someone. Because if she was going to be with someone, she needed to know that it was real, that it was forever. Maybe it was just that she had never really thought of forever before, and the idea of it was a lot more imposing than she had ever imagined it would be.

If she was being honest, though, Malfurion was probably one of the best people she could spend her life with.

"You might as well go talk to him now," Ellison said then, carefully reaching out to wipe away a few lingering tears. "The faster you do it, the faster I can have an actual conversation with you."

Tyrande nodded her agreement, and rose to her feet. She paused in the mirror to make sure she at least looked somewhat presentable, and bent down to give Ash'alah a quick pat on the head before heading to the door. As she was leaving, she heard Ellison mutter to the cat, "I guess that means I'm in the clear to go after Illidan."

She pretended not to have heard, and closed the door.

…

Tyrande knocked twice at the door, and when no one answered, she let herself in. She had been going into their house all her life without knocking, and wasn't quite sure why she suddenly felt like she wasn't supposed to be there. Though, as she moved down the hallway, it appeared that no one was there at all, and she had come all this way for nothing.

"Malfurion?" She called out, taking a few measured steps towards the stairs, fingers trailing down the wall as she did.

"He isn't here."

Tyrande all but jumped out of her skin at the low words called out from the shadows. Illidan was standing at the top of the stairs, half concealed by the darkness. She could see little more than his glowing amber eyes, but as he came down a few steps she could make out the scowl he wore and the way his arms were crossed tightly over his chest.

Illidan swallowed hard as he tried to fight against the growing emotions just from the sight of her. Even after a full week, the memories were fresh enough that he felt those familiar flames rising up in his veins, threatening to break free. "Malfurion isn't here," he repeated, just to say something. There was an undeniable venom in his voice. He didn't want it there, exactly; he didn't want to be mad at her. But it was so hard when every time he looked at her, he just saw her all tangled up with his brother.

"Oh," she murmured softly. She looked up at him through her lashes. "Well, how do you know I wasn't coming to see you?"

Illidan had to bite at his cheeks to stop from laughing. No, she had made it clear what she wanted. Of course, she didn't know what he was aware of what was going on. And so she was going to stand here and try to play it off like it had never happened. He could see it in the way her cheeks were blushing and she was struggling to hold his gaze for more than a few seconds. She wasn't even planning on telling him. That hurt almost just as bad.

Tyrande nervously tugged at the folds of her skirt, just to have something to do with her hands. "I haven't barely seen you," she said awkwardly, before realizing she might have seen him once in a while if she hadn't been hiding out in the temple. She was the one that had been avoiding everyone. "Tell me what's new."

Illidan still had his arms crossed. Trying to shut her out. Not that it was working. There was no blocking her out, not for him. Not when all he wanted to do was let her in and give her all that he had. "I've been busy," he said plainly.

"With Maiev?" She asked instantly, and then wished she hadn't. The words came out far too accusing. She was hardly in the place to accuse him of anything, when she was struggling under the weight of her own secret kiss.

The black haired elf stared down the stairs at her for a long while, silent and still. He thought he detected a hint of jealousy in her voice, the damned hypocrite. He realized quickly that if he spent any more time watching her, he was going to end up saying something far too hurtful, and he had promised himself many times that he would never let her get hurt. He refused to bring her any pain, so he made the snap decision to move down the rest of the stairs and shoulder past her on his way to the door.

Tyrande frowned, confused at his reaction to her question. She spun around and followed him down the corridor, taking two rushed steps for each of his one. Just before he hit the door, she reached out to grab catch his wrist. "Where are you going?" She asked, her voice almost inching towards frantic. Because she was scared, she realized. Scared that she was losing him, and losing Malfurion, and losing all the things she was sure she could count on to always be there. She was scared of the changes she could feel coming. She was scared of disappointing her Goddess, herself, her friends.

She was scared of everything.

Illidan's expression was tinged with pain when he angled his body to look back at her. "I just- I cant right now, Tyrande," was the best answer he could come up with. His fingers were on the handle, pulling open the door. He was trying to escape the suffocation of being so close to her, the burning of her fingers on his skin. He needed to get out before he lost all control and everything around them went up in flames.

Until she watched him step out the doorway, Tyrande hadn't even realized she had let him go.


	8. Chapter 8

_**eight**_

"I'm not sure this is such a good idea."

From where she sat at her vanity, Queen Azshara ignored the fretting of her advisor. Xavius was pacing the length of her chambers nervously. The queen was running her fingers through her long blonde hair, occasionally pausing to powder her near-flawless face. She smiled at her reflection once she was finally satisfied, rising to her feet in a quick motion that made her skirts flutter around her toned legs.

"I just think we need to contemplate the consequences," Xavius was still rambling on. "For example, rebellion. Exile. Execution. Just to name a few."

Azshara rolled her bright blue eyes at him. "Relax, darling," she cooed. "You're always so wound up. Everything is going to be taken care of. And you would do well to stop doubting the power of our lord, lest he decides he must prove it to you."

Xavius eyed her carefully. He was honestly starting to question her sanity from time to time. He knew how the guards talked, how they spread the gossip all over the Eternal Palace that the Queen was going out of her mind. Talking to herself, locking herself up in her rooms. Just a few days ago, she had ordered a band of her best soldiers to keep watch over the Well of Eternity as if it might up and vanish as she slept.

Still, he was loyal to her. That was his job. However, it was also his job to advise her, and he intended to do just that. "Your Majesty, I do agree that you are doing what is best for us, and of course your ever-faithful people. I just hope the rest of the people see it that way as well."

Azshara let out a quick laugh at his concerns and turned her back to him, going instead to her overly sized wardrobe. Focusing her attentions on flipping through gossamer fabrics and elegantly designed gowns. Xavius was always getting himself worked up over nothing. Her people loved her, worshipped her practically as much as Elune herself. Whatever she decided to do, they would support her. And if they did not...she would deal with that when it occurred.

The queen realized for the first time since Xavius had come into her chambers that he was no longer ranting at her. She pursed her lips slightly and glanced back over her shoulder to see her advisor clutching onto the post of her bed for support. His eyes were closed, knuckles white as he held himself up. Just as Azshara opened her mouth to ask if he was alright, his eyes snapped open. In place of the usual glowing blue, there was only a fiery red that seemed to sear into her very flesh.

She realized almost immediately whose eyes she was looking into. The Highborne quickly lowered her gaze and fell gracefully to her knees. "My Lord," she murmured with a bowed head. Her tone was demurring, thick with awe. "To what do I owe this great pleasure?"

She heard only the hesitant sounds of footsteps, each one getting closer, louder, shaking the floor under her. Then there were fingers in her tousled blonde hair, forcing her head up, all but lifting her off the ground. Although it was technically the body of her advisor before her, there were really no traces of Xavius left in his face, not with the burning eyes and malicious scowl.

"My patience is wearing thin, Azshara." When he spoke, it was like an earthquake shaking the very foundations of her core. "How much longer?"

The Highborne woman dared to smile at him. Even in this lesser form, possessing the body of Xavius, he was a terrifying and impressive sight. She could hardly fathom how it would be to gaze upon him in all his glory, in his true form, towering before her as she trembled for her master. She could hardly wait for the moment he was unleashed into the world, a whirlwind of flames and terror and greatness. And she would be his queen, the only one worthy, the one that made everything possible for him. She would bring him for all of Azeroth to behold, and together they would watch the world crumble before them.

"Soon, my Lord," she assured him. She could never bring himself to say his name. Perhaps the realness of it all frightened her some. Maybe she didn't think she deserved to say it. "I promise you, by the next moon we will be ready." If he was pleased in the slightest, he didn't express it, just sneered down at her. She realized he still had a tight grip on her hair; no doubt it was ruined now. Not that she minded. Azshara may have been vain and self-empowered, but she was reduced to a slave for him.

"Good," he finally said. When he released her, it was with a slight shove that made her fall back, hands flying out to steady herself. From her crumpled heap on the floor, she watched him stomp away. "We will speak soon, then. At long last, a new era will dawn. My time has finally come."

He did not acknowledge her again, not even a glance over his shoulder. Azshara remained motionless even as Xavius' body fell to the floor, as his eyes snapped open to reveal their normal blue color returned. He was gone, then. But she could still feel his presence lingering, always surrounding her, reminding her that she belonged to him, and he could take her life in a heartbeat if she failed him.

…

Illidan turned the heavy cream envelope over in his hands, examining the extravagant calligraphed scrawl of his name across the front, sealed with the official crest of the Queen. A frown tugged at his brow as curiosity overcame him. Flipping it over, he slid a finger under the edge to tear it open. Inside, there was a thick card embellished with golden spirals twisting down the sides, coiling like snakes.

_Illidan Stormrage, _it read. _You are cordially invited to attend the ball of Her Majesty Queen Azshara of Suramar, at the Eternal Palace on the evening of the Full Moon. _Nothing more, nothing less. Her read it twice, just to make sure it was truly made out to him.

Apparently, Illidan had made friends in higher places than he had realized.

Shrugging the matter off, he cast the invitation aside. Though he did recognize that it was an honor to have made such an exclusive guest list, he wasn't the kind to get worked up over something like that. Besides, he had learned his lesson about keeping Maiev waiting; he didn't wish to endure her tears again. He didn't like the feelings it gave him, something close to guilt or remorse.

He made his way to the training area. Now that he was practicing each day with Ravencrest, he had plenty of new things to show Maiev. And Ravencrest had given him a new confidence in his arcane abilities, and he had even opened up to Maiev about that, showing her some of the things he could do. Since it was impossible for her to hide her feelings from him, he could tell she was impressed, her lips parted and her eyes all aglow as she watched the flames twist around his arms.

She was there, of course. Illidan paused before entering the clearing, his body still hidden by the shade of the trees. Once, Maiev would have been sitting in the grass, waiting for his command before she would dare make a move. Now, however, she was whirling around the umbra crescent all on her own, her stance perfect, her pink hair whipping against her face as she lunged at the target. She looked ferociously dangerous. Deadly beautiful.

For a few moments, he was content to just sit there and watch her move. It was a glorious sight, her body twisting and moving with grace. It was a glorious feeling, too, knowing that he had created that breathtaking monstrosity. He had made her into this. Illidan felt a slight smile tug at his lips.

It faded when she suddenly caught him standing there, her body freezing mid-attack, the umbra crescent almost slipping from her hold. She managed to catch it, straightening up, looking at him with raised brows and parted lips. "Oh, hi," she greeted breathlessly. Then, that blush he had come to almost enjoy crept over her cheeks. "I didn't realize you were there."

Illidan held up his hands. "I didn't mean to interrupt," he replied with ease, stepping forward into the clearing. Maiev shrugged the matter off, shifted her hold on the great weapon. After a moment of silence, he added, "You looked beautiful. Your form, I mean. You probably don't even need me anymore."

Maiev forced herself to look away, untucked her hair from behind her ear so that it would shield her face from him. She needed him, just in ways she didn't know how to explain. Besides, if their sessions ended, what would become of them? More than likely, he would disappear forever from her life, move on to something more interesting. And Maiev would be left on her own once more, left with only the fading memories of how it felt to have him pressed against her. Even if it wasn't nearly as close as she wished, it was all she had, and hadn't she already made up her mind to settle for what she could get?

She spun back towards him much too quick, making her dizzy for a moment. "What have you and Ravencrest been practicing?" She asked. With Illidan receiving his own specialized training with the esteemed soldier now, he always had new things to show her, new stances and swings, all the things he could do with the flames he exercised such control over. She shivered a little at the thought, the excitement she felt because of him.

Now that Maiev was strong enough to actually wield her weapon, and trained enough to have some idea what she was doing, Illidan had been bringing his own weapon so they could actually spar. He was impressed with how quickly she learned, how determined she had proved to be. It was as if once she had gotten the idea into her head, she was an unstoppable force. They lost track of the night in the familiar movements, the weapons colliding, their bodies coming in close only to retreat away from one another. A violently heated dance. Once or twice, Illidan actually thought she might clip him with the edge of her blade. The idea made him proud rather than afraid.

When they finished, the pair was left panting for breath. Maiev's hair was a tangled mess around her face, and Illidan's body ached with overuse. "That's enough for tonight," he said, an order she didn't try to resist. He could see the way her hold on the crescent was loosening, her arms getting weak. He murmured a goodnight and turned to leave, but only made it a few paces before he came to a stop. For a split second, he thought on the invitation from the queen, discarded on his counter.

"Maiev," he murmured, turning around, her name feeling thick in his mouth. The elf girl was watching carefully, head cocked to the side just slightly. "There is this...party thing, I guess. At the Eternal Palace. I got an invitation, and I was thinking maybe, if you wanted, you could go with me."

Maiev remained frozen, motionless as she allowed his words to really, fully sink in. He was asking her to accompany him to a party at the Eternal Palace? Asking nonchalantly, like it was nothing at all to him. But her heart was threatening to burst from her chest, and a cry of happiness was threatening to rip free from her lungs, and she was having a hard time not jumping up and down where she stood. She didn't think she had ever felt so giddy about anything in all her life.

Illidan watched her with an amused expression as she tried so valiantly to contain herself. She was failing miserably, anyway. "I'm going to assume that's a yes," he murmured with a smirk. Without waiting for her reply, he shrugged and turned away once more.

This time, he made it maybe five steps. Then, before he was really aware of what was happening, Maiev had appeared in front of him. He opened his mouth, but snapped it closed as her fingers settled on his chest, grabbing desperately at the fabric of his shirt, bunching it up in her fingers. The elf girl went up on her tip toes and, without hesitation, kissed him.

It was quick and gentle, barely the brush of her mouth against his. Still it seared, engraining into her memory. Maiev knew that for the rest of her immortal life, she would never forget that moment. As she realized what she had done in her boldness, Maiev released her tight hold on him, almost stumbling backwards as she did. The silence hung in the air around them for a few painfully long seconds, her cheeks ablaze, her bright eyes falling on the ground at her feet.

Illidan was staring off ahead, still trying to grasp just what had happened. He was this strange mixture of surprised and not. Like a part of him had known it would happen eventually, while the other part was certain Maiev would never act upon her overly obvious desire. But she had, and now he just wasn't sure what to do next, where to go from there. He glanced up to see her staring very intently at the grass, trying to mask her embarrassment and failing miserably.

In an easy stride he had closed the distance she had tried to place between them. His hand caught her chin in a light hold, forcing her to look up at him. Her lips were parted, eyes wide, silently pleading. Illidan leaned in close, carefully, watching the way her back arched in attempt to be closer to him. When there was but a breath of space between them, he smirked wickedly. "Goodnight, Miss Shadowsong," he whispered.

In an instant, he had pulled away. Left her standing there, trembling from the absence of his touch. Maiev watched motionlessly as he disappeared off into the woods, leaving her with only the lingering sensation of their kiss and the fear that she might never feel it again.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hello, lovelies. So, I wanted to pause and address a few points made in a guest review, since I am unable to message them privately to clarify. **

**First of all, in my initial author's note, I had addressed making some lore changes. I know that Jarod is younger than Maiev, but liked the idea of her having an older, protective brother, so I flipped that around. **

**Second of all, if you go on the wow wiki for Maiev, the picture posted there shows her with pink hair, which is where I drew the inspiration for that. **

**Finally, the point of this story is that everyone is basically a child. They're young, and the events of WotA are what shaped each of the characters into who they eventually become after the war. Illidan might have been slightly more brooding, but he was nowhere near who we see in Warcraft 3 or Burning Crusade at this point, because he didn't have years of imprisonment and bitterness towards everyone to drive his motivation. The Maiev we are used to may be cold and ruthless and very strong as a female character, but no girl starts off like that. There are things they go through that cause them to close themselves off to others and to the emotions they perceive as weakness. **

**Another point I would like to make. Although, as I stated, I have not read the Knaak trilogy, I am familiar with the basic concept. The characters in the book go back in time and, I believe, alter the events of WotA, correct? Therefore, it's hard to really say what happened before it was altered. Just something I thought about, anyway. **

**That all being said, I thank you for your continued interest in my story. More chapters to come in the near future. Send me more reviews, yeah? I have no problems explaining my decisions to change anything from the original lore provided to us by Blizzard. **

_**nine**_

Malfurion wasn't really all that surprised to find the house dark and empty when he came home. Since his return, he had been occupying his time practicing all the skills Cenarius had passed onto him. As such, he was fairly busy most of the time. And it seemed that Illidan was almost never around anymore either, though Malfurion wasn't entirely sure what his brother was doing that kept him away so often.

The moon trickling in through the windows was his only offering of light as he stepped inside and made his way towards the dining area, but for the night elves the moon had always been enough. If he was being honest with himself, the emptiness that he always seemed to return to made him feel somewhat lonely. He remembered wistfully the days when they had been younger and it had been a miracle to ever see one of their trio without the others. Now, it seemed he could barely find a moment to spend with either of them.

And he was overly aware of the fact that Tyrande had not spoken to him once since their kiss. He worried that perhaps he had overstepped some invisible line, that somehow in trying to bring them closer, he had only succeeded in pushing her away. But the fact of the matter was that he loved her, and the thought of having to deny that anymore was simply too much to bear. He knew there was at least some part of her that loved him back, or else she never would have spent that night laying out under the stars with him. She never would have kissed him back with such want.

Malfurion was sure that she was simply holding back because she was worried about ruining their long time friendship. But it wasn't such a big step to take, really, not if it was something they both wanted. And he had to believe that it was. He wondered if maybe she was just scared to come and talk to him, scared that he would turn her away when they both knew that was the last thing he ever wanted to do to her. Maybe he should just go and talk to her. At least it would be more productive than simply moping around alone in the dark.

He figured he wouldn't waste any time, and started right back towards the door through which he had just come, but not before a letter resting idly on the counter caught his eye. Usually he wasn't one to snoop around Illidan's business, but decided that if his brother had wanted to keep whatever it might be a secret, he wouldn't have left it so haphazardly abandoned where Malfurion could easily find it.

Crossing the room in a few easy steps, he lifted the envelope, feeling the weight of whatever was inside. He pulled it out carefully, turning it over in his hands and reading the beautifully written inscription. The words caused a slight frown to tug at his brows. Illidan was going to some formal affair at the Eternal Palace? Apparently, he really _didn't_ have any idea what his brother had been up to.

Still, it must have been important, to have gotten the attention of the Highborne queen. Malfurion replaced the letter as close to where it had been as he could. He was proud of Illidan; it seemed that maybe he had finally started to find some sort of direction for himself. He hoped that maybe one of these days he could catch him long enough to find out what it was.

In the meantime, though, there were other things clawing at his mind, pushing any other thoughts aside. He left the house, making his way across the shaded expanses of Suramar to where the temple swelled across the skyline. He could hear the humming of the night breeze, the contented sighs of the grass as it caressed each blade. He felt connected to everything around him, offering a sense of peace to quiet the lingering fears about going to see Tyrande.

It was a short distance to the temple, so it didn't take him long to get there. He kept his head down and silently hoped he wouldn't pass any elder priestesses, because he had a feeling they would be a little suspicious of him trying to sneak into the living quarters this late in the evening. He still remembered exactly how to get to her chambers; once he was reached the door, he took a slow breath before raising his hand to knock.

He counted his heartbeats until the door swung open to reveal the navy haired girl. She looked like she hadn't slept in days, her eyes half-lidded and her hair hanging over her shoulders in messy, unraveling braids. "Malfurion," she greeted carefully, without stepping aside to let him in as he had expected her to do.

Tyrande stared up at him for a long moment, her fingers lingering on the handle of the door. She had been studying obsessively all night, trying to block out the thoughts that had tortured her day and night. She had cried for hours after her accidental run in with Illidan, at the way he had so coldly brushed her off in a way he never had before. She had cried until there were no tears left, and then she had forced herself not to think about it anymore, not about him or Malfurion or anything, because it was all becoming too much to bear. So, seeing him standing there simply wasn't helping matters at all. "Uh, hi. What are you doing here?" She asked awkwardly, when the drawn out silence had become too much.

Whatever he had been expecting, she could tell by his face that it wasn't that. "I came to see you," he trailed off in an obvious tone. "You haven't talked to me in over a week now."

Because, she thought, she hadn't the slightest idea what she was supposed to say. How could she confront him about what had happened when she herself wasn't even sure what she wanted? Malfurion had made it perfectly clear what he expected to come out of their relationship. But Tyrande just didn't know if she was ready for that. And what would happen to their trio once it was just the two of them. Not that Illidan seemed like he was exactly trying to keep either of them in his life at the moment... She had so many other things going on right now, and the overwhelming severity of it all was starting to catch up and weigh her down.

"I'm sorry," she said, though the words sounded a bit too flat to be sincere. "I've just been really busy. Studying and stuff," she added with a shrug.

Malfurion wasn't buying it, though. He saw the way her gaze shifted, unable to hold his. He wanted desperately to reach for her, but forced himself to keep his hands at his sides. "Tyrande, if you want to talk about it-"

"And say what?" She snapped, cutting him off harsher than she had intended. With a slight sigh, she offered up an apologetic glance. She finally moved aside so that he could come in, not wanting any chance passersby to overhear their conversation. Once he had stepped into her disaster of a room, she closed the door behind him. Ash'alah immediately came over to him and brushed herself against his legs, purring loudly.

"I'm sorry, Furion," she murmured; this time her voice was filled with sorrow and regret. "I'm just so confused, and stressed, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I'm drowning in my studies, trying to keep up and be the best priestess that I can. Illidan is apparently no longer speaking to me, and I have no idea why. And then you-"

Her wild ranting was cut off abruptly by the suddenness of Malfurion taking her into his arms and kissing her hard on the mouth. Tyrande whimpered against his hold, but quickly found herself unable to resist, and so she slid her arms up around his neck and kissed him back. It was gentle and careful and so full of love she didn't even know what to do with it.

She was breathless when they pulled away. "...did that," she finished.

Malfurion couldn't help but smile sheepishly at her. "My apologies," he said playfully. Then, more seriously, he added, "Listen, Tyra, if you're not ready, you only have to tell me. If you have to sort some things out, I'll wait all the time it takes for you. You're worth all my eternity. I'll never want anyone but you."

Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest as she listened to him talk. Each word he said made it harder and harder to breathe. His hand was still resting on her hip, still keeping her close to him, the light touch electrifying her skin even through the cloth of her gowns. Protective. He had always been so damn protective of her, trying to keep her out of harm's way when she and Illidan had always dove right into the dangers ahead. She moved so that she could link her fingers into his own and give them a light squeeze. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

She tried for a moment to find some way to reply, but no words seemed right when she played them over in her head. In the end, she simply pressed her body into his, enough to force him stumbling back into the wall, and kissed him again. This time, it was Malfurion who was caught off guard, but he quickly regained composure enough to tighten his hold on her, trapping her small body against his own. It was easy for them to get lost in the feelings of being so close together, finally crossing the line they hadn't dared to cross before.

Malfurion hoisted her up in his arms with ease, her legs wrapping around his waist to help support her weight as he carried her across to the bed. He paused to shove aside some of her books, pushing them off onto the floor so that he could lay her down. He gaze down at her for a long moment, admiring her beauty and the way the moonlight spilled in through the window like it was blessing them. "Tyrande," he murmured. As always, he loved the way her name sounded on his tongue. "Tyrande, I love you."

Her hands reaching up to grasp the fabric of his shirt, she nodded. Of course he loved her. And she loved him too; she really did. Their lives were so entangled it was impossible to imagine one of them without the others. So she allowed him to lean in and kiss her again, arching her back to press her body into his, feeling his reassuring weight over her body, comforting and protective.

When he murmured against the delicate skin of her neck once more that he loved her, Tyrande managed to repeat the words in a gasping breath. With his hands all over her body, leaving no inch of her untouched, she was able to lose control and give in fully to the pleasure, wordlessly bonding them to one another for all eternity.

...

Maiev all but skipped into her house, the giddy feeling still coursing through her small frame. Everything felt like it was happening so fast, and she was having a hard time keeping up. But she knew she wouldn't change any of it, not for anything. After weeks and weeks of wishing, hoping, praying to her goddess for some help, it seemed that Illidan was finally within her reach.

She was happy to find her brother still sitting at the table. His usual was armor was removed, leaving him dressed down in only standard clothing. He always looked like such a different person when he wasn't donning his typical plate armor that bore the Queen's crest. Maiev danced across the room to his side, and in an uncharacteristic motion slung her arms around his neck in a tight hug.

Jarod tensed up against her hold, but soon relaxed, letting out a breathy laugh. "Alright, who are you, and what have you done with my brooding little sister?"

Maiev couldn't even break out of her happy state long enough to tease him back. "Jarod," she cooed, drawing his name out into unnecessary syllables.

"What do you want?"

She couldn't help but smirk at how well her brother knew her. "Well..." She trailed off, a sudden self-consciousness seeping into her impeccable mood. She disentangled herself from him and began pacing the length of the room as she rambled. "There is this...thing, and I was asked to go, and I was hoping that maybe I might have some gold so that I could get a dress made."

Only when she had finished speaking did she dare glance back at him. Of course she should have known better than to think anything could have gotten past him, seeing as he could read her thoughts as though she had literally scrawled them out across the walls. Jarod arched a single brow at her. "This _thing_ wouldn't happen to be the ball Queen Azshara up and decided to host, would it? Because I'm struggling to think of an alternative need for a new dress."

Her blush gave her away much too quickly. Jarod replied with a chorus of laughter. "My little sister has been asked on a date. And by a Highborne? Tell me his name. I'll have to take some soldiers over to roughen him up a bit."

This time when her blush deepened it was for entirely different reasons. Though it seemed foolish now, she hadn't expected her brother to ask so many questions. Then again, knowing how protective of her Jarod was, the interrogation she would get because of this should not have been a surprise. "He isn't a Highborne," she said at last. "Though, he is affiliated with General Ravencrest. And you will do no such thing to him, Jarod! He is a good person. He's been teaching me to use the weapon you got me, and-"

"Is that where you've been creeping off to all night long?" He interjected. "Don't think I don't hear you. You can't exactly sneak around in plate armor."

Maiev chose to ignore his playfully biting remarks. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest piece. She had tried to play the sickly sweet game with him, and since that had basically backfired on her, she resorted to glaring at him instead. "Are you going to give me gold or not?"

Jarod, as always, saw right through her icy demeanor. "Yes, yes," he drawled. "No need to be so pushy, little sister."

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't help but allow a smile to tug at her lips. Everything she wanted was right within her grasp. She only had to reach out and take it, and pray especially hard that nothing would get in her way.


	10. Chapter 10

_**ten**_

The smooth fabrics of the long skirts brushed against her legs, swaying with each clumsy step Maiev took. "So much for elven grace," she muttered to herself. She crossed her room to the mirror and took in her reflection for what must have been the hundredth time. The gown was breathtakingly beautiful, pale green silk that flowed down so far it brushed against the floor when she walked. It was pinned up on one side to reveal the white ruffly toole underneath, and there was a lace collar that came all the way up over her chest, tying behind her throat, leaving her skin overly exposed.

Still, Maiev was tripping over the hem with each step she took, which was going to make for a long night. At least she had decided against wearing heels. She craned her neck as best she could to try and see the twisted braids that were pinned up carefully to her scalp. It had taken the better part of the afternoon, and she was proud of herself for managing to accomplish it all on her own.

Now, all there was to do was wait. She was full of anxiety, repeatedly fidgeting, pulling at the dress where it cinched her waistline. Heavy armor had started to feel like home to her, and now this tight-fitting gown felt like it was suffocating her. She leaned into the mirror once more, let out a slight sigh, and headed out to wait in the kitchen area for Illidan to arrive.

The very thought sent a shiver running down her spine. If anyone would have asked her, just weeks before, when she had been silently admiring him from across the temple, Maiev never once would have thought that they would end up here. Not that she was entirely sure where _here_ was either, but it was certainly further than she had ever gotten before. He wouldn't have invited her if he didn't have some kind of feelings for her, right? If she was being honest, she was surprised he hadn't asked Tyrande, seeing as they were supposed to be inseparable and all that. Maybe something had happened that she didn't know about. It wasn't as if Illidan ever really opened up about anything to her. All she could do was hope that, in time, he would let down his guard a little.

A quiet knock on the door drew Maiev out of her rambling thoughts and back into reality. She bunched up her long skirts in fistfuls and moved carefully towards the door to let him in, thankful her brother had already left to go and meet up with the other soldiers, thankful she managed to get all the way to the door without falling right on her face. She opened it and greeted Illidan with a bright smile, her glowing eyes scanning him up and down, taking in his muscled form under the nice dress clothes he wore. She was so used to seeing him in either light armor or with no shirt at all, so it was an unexpected change, but there was no denying he looked good. Judging by his teasing smirk, he knew it too, or maybe he just enjoyed tormenting her.

Illidan greeted her, taking a moment to admire the dress she wore. It was quite beautiful, and fit her body well, hugging to each curve in such a way that he couldn't help but let his mind wander for a moment. While the armor he had grown accustom to turned Maiev into a deadly and stunning warrior, the dress made her look every part the small girl she really was. Memories of the quick kiss they had shared flickered across his mind. At first, after he had gotten back home and had time to process it all, Illidan had felt almost bad about it. Because in a way, it felt like a betrayal to Tyrande, to his feelings for her, to all he had hoped could be between the two of them. But then he recalled the stabbing pain in his own chest upon catching her with his brother, and ultimately decided that if anyone had betrayed anyone here, it certainly wasn't him.

For the time being, he laid those thoughts to rest. He didn't want to ruin his chances at a perfectly good evening with Maiev by getting lost in his own head and the thoughts that were better left untouched. Highborne parties were known to be incredibly decadent and exclusive, and the fact that he had managed to get invited was an honor he was not about to throw away. Illidan held out a hand to her, which she took with only the slightest hesitation.

"You look beautiful," he told her once they had started walking, the moonlight casting its blessing down through the trees onto them. He stole a sidelong glance at her just in time to see that blush he had grown accustom to take over her face.

"Thank you," Maiev murmured in return, unable to raise her gaze from the grass below them. The rest of the walk was small talk, some playful and teasing, some more serious, and all the while Maiev could think of nothing but how easy and simple it felt just being at his side. It was a feeling she could have gotten used to. When she finally looked up, she could see the Eternal Palace looming before them, its massive spires and intricate architecture a perfect reflection of the opulence that resided within. The night was filled with endless possibilities, and all of them waited for her just beyond those gates. She wasn't sure what all it would hold for her, but whatever it was, Maiev was sure it would be unforgettable.

…

The ballroom was perhaps one of the most beautiful things Maiev had ever seen in all her life. Large windows allowed the night's glow to spill in across the floor, giving an ethereal glow to everything and everyone. No part of the room had been left untouched, golden ribbons and sashes bearing the crest of the Queen. And then there were the Highborne themselves, all done up in gorgeous dresses, their hair swept back, their faces dusted with glittering powder. Maiev couldn't help but feel self conscious in their presence.

Once they had made it in, the pair found a place off to the side of the room where they could see everything. It would have been overwhelming had Maiev not drawn comfort from the fact that Illidan was at her side. Being around him was like being invincible, she thought. He was such an unstoppable force of strength and power, and Maiev was able to take some of that into herself just from being near him, take some of his courage and fearlessness to make herself brave.

At some point, they had each procured a glass of wine, and Maiev had sipped it down quickly, enjoying the way it rolled smoothly over her tongue. Then, the small girl had managed to find another, and then a third, and now she was grinning happily and uncharacteristically clinging to his side as if she might topple over the moment she let go. Glancing at her, Illidan thought that wasn't actually too far out of the realm of possibility.

"Please, Illidan! One dance." Maiev let a giggle escape her lips, her fingers wrapped around his wrist as she used all her strength trying to make him budge. He didn't even shift an inch, despite her best efforts.

"Absolutely not," Illidan snapped, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. "I do not dance."

Maiev rolled her eyes at him. Did he always have to be so impossibly set in his ways? What did he expect to do when they got there? This was supposed to be a party; and not just any party, but one thrown by the Highborne Queen herself. If Illidan really thought she was simply going to stand in the back and _watch_ everyone else have a good time, then the night elf had another thing coming. The pink haired girl tried once more to yank his arm, and once more he remained unmoved.

Finally releasing her hold on him, Maiev crossed her own arms tightly and jutted her bottom lip out in a pout. "It's just like fighting, really," she said then. "You just...react to the other person. Follow their movements, counter them with your own. I'll bet you'd be good at it."

Illidan scoffed at her remarks. He would never admit it, of course, but for all of his acting he really did find it almost endearing, the way that she was tripping all over herself for him. He was no fool, and he was far from blind to the way Maiev changed whenever he came around. If it wasn't her telltale blush giving her feelings away, then it was something else. The way she would stare after him for a moment too long, or the way she flinched when they accidentally touched, like her very being was craving more. In the past few weeks that they had spent together, he had certainly started to consider Maiev something of a friend, a close enough one even to bring here and share in this honorable moment.

But he knew in the depths of his heart that whatever it was she sought from him, she could not have. Because no matter how beautiful she looked with her hair all pinned up to display the soft curves of her jaw, no matter how much he had grown to enjoy their time spent together, no matter how much she clung to his side, it would never be Maiev that his heart desired. And no matter how hard she might try to get to him, Illidan knew that there was no force in all the world that could make him want anyone but Tyrande.

So, as he felt Maiev swaying against his side, rambling something in his ear he didn't really hear, he knew that he needed to be careful with her. She was too fragile, too pure and innocent, and he feared that he had already let this go on too long. Or maybe she was just drunk off the potent wine of the Highborne, and by morning she would regret ever letting herself be so forward with him.

"...and you know, I don't mean to ignore my duties or anything, but I just feel like maybe I…"

Illidan had just started to listen to what Maiev was actually saying again when something else entirely caught his attention. It was brief, faint, but still he was able to feel it, as one might feel a slight and sudden breeze blow through their hair. It was gone as soon as it had come, leaving him to wonder if anything had been there at all. A frown creased his brow as he closed his eyes and tried to focus on it.

As a user of arcane magic, it was easy for him to tell when those around him were using. In the same way the Well of Eternity permeated the air and granted the people of Suramar their eternal lives and their magical gifts, the actual use of magic released a sort of aura, a mark of its presence. It was sickly sweet, dangerously tempting, and more of a rush than Illidan knew how to explain. It took incredible skill to be able to control that much raw power coursing through the veins, threatening to consume everything.

This, however, whatever it was, felt different to him. Though Illidan had just barely managed to catch it wafting through the air, it was almost suffocating, overwhelming to his senses. Almost oppressive, in a way. It was unlike the familiar feelings of arcane magic, but still there was that underlying sense of great, magnificent power. He didn't like it, the way it seemed to press in on him from all sides.

"...and you wouldn't have asked me to come with if you didn't, right? So I don't think it's that crazy for me to assume…"

Maiev was still rambling on; her voice, now risen in pitch, was enough to break his concentration. It drew his attention back to her, the way her hands were moving animatedly while she talked, apparently oblivious to the fact that he hadn't heard a single word she'd said. He felt almost bad, knowing that he should have been enjoying the night with her and giving her the treatment she deserved. But his mind was fixated almost obsessively on that lingering feeling that whatever he had sensed in the air around them, it was a bad omen.

"Illidan?" Maiev asked suddenly, cutting off abruptly from her previous thoughts. He turned his gaze towards her, offering an apologetic look. The girl was unable to prevent her features from falling a little. Here she had been all but spilling her heart out to him, and she realized that he had been lost in his head, probably hadn't heard a single word she had said. She felt a stabbing ache in her chest, the swell of embarrassment at the idea that maybe this night wasn't at all what she had thought it was.

Illidan could see this in the way her gaze immediately dropped to the floor, and then he really did feel bad. "I am sorry," he murmured quietly. His hand strayed up to cup the side of her face gently, and he felt her body press suddenly into his, back arched. A slow sigh escaped his lips. He knew what she wanted, and he knew that giving it to her would be going against his own feelings. No matter what, someone was bound to get hurt, and he hadn't the slightest idea how he was supposed to tell her the truth.

"Maiev," he said softly, her name barely a whisper on his lips. But he stopped himself from continuing when he realized the rest of the room had fallen silent around them. All of their gazes had travelled up to the raised balcony that looked out over them, where two guards had come to stand. Illidan watched as everyone around them dipped down to their knees in a single motion, one that unified the entire room. Grabbing Maiev's hand, he pulled her down into the same position before they drew any unwanted attention to themselves.

A bellowing voice rang out through the hall, introducing to each of the guests Her Majesty Queen Azshara, Light of Lights, Daughter of the Moon, Ruler of the Quel'dorei and all of Kalimdor.

Maiev chanced a look up through her lashes, and she was just able to make out the Queen as she came to stand at the edge of the balcony, her hands delicately gripping the railing. She was without a doubt the most beautiful person Maiev had ever seen. Her long blonde hair flowed in perfect waves all the way down to her hips, a few braided strands pinned up around her head. She wore an ivory gown with a deep plunging neckline that descended all the way down to her stomach pale blue flesh and the curvature of her cleavage. She flashed a bright smile for all in the room. "Rise, my children," she spoke then, her melodic voice both gentle and commanding.

Everyone did as they were told, moving in sync, a room full of people enchanted by Azshara's very presence. Maiev realized Illidan's fingers were still laced in her own when she felt his grip tighten. Glancing over, she saw him scanning the room with slight concern etched into his features. She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but never got to speak before the Queen's voice was filling the air once more.

"I have gathered you all, my most worthy and noble of servitors, to witness the dawning of a new age," she said. The smile that had seemed inviting only moments ago now seemed more malicious. "The future is upon us. Your ever- loving Queen has secured for us all a place in this future. The time for change has come, the time for the Quel'dorei to reign in a world of bliss and perfection."

Something close to fear has begun to cultivate in Maiev's chest. What was she talking about, a new age? Her thoughts flickered back to that night when she had overheard Jarod and the other soldiers talking about the Queen's recent, erratic behavior. She glanced around the room to see if anyone else was put off by this speech, but the Highborne were all hanging on Azshara's words like they were under some kind of spell. Only Illidan, standing protectively at her side, seemed to share her dislike for this whole situation. She almost asked him if they could go, because this was all getting too strange for her.

Illidan, too, was staring up at the Queen. Only his expression was guarded, his eyes narrowed slightly. That feeling he had before, that crushing weight telling him that something was wrong, was back, and it was even stronger. That sensation had returned, closing in around him. He watched as Azshara stepped to the side, and the two guards that had stood beside her turned and began to concentrate on the space of the balcony behind her. She was smiling brightly again, clearly pleased with this whole display for her people.

Without warning, a swirling portal opened before their eyes. Illidan couldn't help but suck in a slight breath, drawn in by the allure, the pull of the power radiating through the room. There was an echoing silence hanging over the crowds, all transfixed on the portal, watching, waiting.

"Illidan," Maiev whispered, giving his hand a slight tug. "We should-"

She never got to finish that thought, for a moment later, she was cut off by an inhuman sound, as an entourage of terrifying creatures, the likes of which she had never seen, came almost literally spilling through the portal. With a low whimper, she pressed herself into Illidan's side, his arm snaking protectively around her waist. She stared on with wide, fear-filled eyes as the monsters, horned and winged, and certainly not of this world, filled the balcony around the Queen. The last to step through, just as the portal flickered and closed, was a towering beast, faded blue skin and glowing green eyes that tore into everything they gazed upon as if intent on destroying all that laid before him. If not for the open ceiling of the ballroom, he would not have fit there on the raised ledge. His tail flicked wickedly as he scanned the room, then finally looked to Azshara.

The elven Queen turned back towards her people. "Bow," she commanded, her high-pitched voice breaking through the resonating silence. "Swear loyalty to your Queen, and to the lords of the new world."

"Illidan!" Maiev hissed again, this time more urgently. "Please, we need to go!" Around them, the Highborne had already begun to fall to their knees, lowering themselves in respect and submission to this monster hovering over them ferociously. Illidan nodded slowly, and then in a quick movement, he had taken her by the hand and was pulling her through the crowds towards the door.

They might have made it unnoticed, if not for the slender Highborne that suddenly stepped into their path. "Illidan," she purred, a hand rising up to rest on his chest. The other remained positioned on her hipbone, visible through the opening in the fabric of her curve hugging violet gown. "So wonderful to see you again, darling."

It took him a moment to remember who she was, but he soon recalled that this was the same woman who had caught him eavesdropping on Ravencrest and Azshara. "Vashj," he replied quickly, managing to keep his voice from shaking. "We were just leaving, actually."

An offended look came over her face. "But the party has only just begun," she said, her lip jutting out into a pout. "Isn't it wonderful? Our magnificent queen has promised us a place of power in a perfect new world." She leaned in closer, pressing her body to his. "I am so very glad you will be spared."

It was Maiev who spoke up, scowling at the other woman as she literally threw herself at Illidan. "Spared? What do you mean?"

Vashj looked over at her as though just noticing she was there for the first time. She gave a look of distaste to the pink haired girl, trailing her gaze over her body with a sneer. "From the cleansing, of course," she replied. "These new, otherworldly allies will go forth and purge the world of those unworthy to transcend into the new era. Then the lesser of the elves will no longer steal the powers of the Well from us."

A series of emotions played out across Illidan's face as he listened to Vashj reveal the master plan. If what she was saying was true, then these monsters that has appeared through the portal were going to slaughter the night elves, leaving only the Highborne behind. Which meant-

Tyrande.

"I have to go," he blurted suddenly. When he tried to push past her, she only tightened her hold on him.

"You should stay here, Illidan," she hissed. Her eyes flickered to Maiev. "You don't belong with those...filth."

That was the final straw. Maiev made a low noise in the back of her throat that sounded dangerously close to a growl, and before she really realized what she was doing, pulled her arm back and punched Vashj directly in the jaw. She let out a loud cry as she stumbled back. Illidan was frozen in shock for a moment at what he had just witnessed, and only snapped out of it once she had pulled him from the palace.

It only took a few seconds for the severity of the situation to sink in. "Maiev," he said quickly. "We have to find Tyrande. If what Lady Vashj said is true, then she won't be safe. I can't let anything happen to her."

With each word he spoke, Maiev felt her heart sinking lower and lower. She could hear the franticness with which he spoke, the fear and desperation over the very idea of any harm coming to Tyrande. In that moment it all became so clear to her, what had been right in front of her face, what she had been too naive and dumb to realize.

Illidan would never want her. Not the way she wanted him too, anyway. Not when his heart was already in the possession of another.

It hurt a lot more than she had expected. The truth was an invisible weight crushing down on her chest, one she couldn't remove and couldn't ignore.

After a few silent moments, she forced herself to nod. "Okay," she said, the word only barely coming out in a whisper. Maiev understood that right now there were bigger things going on that her wasted feelings on someone who could never love her back. She managed to swallow down the hurt and put on the bravest face she could muster. "Let's go find her."

Illidan laced his fingers in hers once more pair set off away from the palace as fast as they could. Maiev did her best to ignore the full ache that had made itself a home in her chest and the terrifying shrieks that resonated through the night from the creatures behind them.

Illidan glanced over at her, mistaking her pained expression for fear. "It's going to be okay," he said, doing his best to keep his voice calm and convincing.

Maiev wasn't buying it. Nothing was ever going to be okay again.


	11. Chapter 11

_**eleven**_

It didn't take long for mass chaos to break out in all directions.

With her fingers laced in his, Illidan pulled Maiev along through the shadows, blending into the night to which they belonged. The air was warm and ablaze with the eerie green glow of the fires that had been started all through Suramar as the demon creatures were unleashed to ravage the city.

Illidan moved with a purpose. All that existed in his mind was finding Tyrande, making sure she was safe. Maiev was strangely silent, enough that he would have forgotten she was even there if not for her occasionally giving his hand a sudden squeeze. All around him, there was destruction and death and madness. If this was the new world that Azshara had envisioned for them, he wasn't so sure he wanted a part of it. He could see the temple forming before them, no longer just lingering in the distance. The adrenaline drove him to pick up the pace, knowing that he was so close to her.

Maiev, on the other hand, was struggling to keep up with him, tripping over her skirts, trying to block out the ache that had taken up residence in her chest. For a while, she had thought that she didn't care at all if the world burned around them, because her heart was broken and she didn't know how to handle that feeling. At some point, she had given up on her dress altogether, and had paused to rip the skirt off in a jagged gash that left her long legs exposed and made it easier to move around.

Once she had snapped back into reality, she had taken all that energy and focused it on the fact that she had no idea where Jarod was. She wanted desperately to go and find him, but she knew that there was no way she could survive if she were to stray from Illidan. Even now she needed him, a fact that she hated to acknowledge. She had resolved that as soon as they reached the sanctuary of the temple, she would ask him if they could find her brother.

They were closing in on the temple now. Maiev closed her eyes for a moment, trying to reach out to Elune, to feel her blessings and warm light filling her body. But she only felt strangely alone. Shivering a little, she snapped her eyes open.

Just in time for Illidan to shove her back as a pair of demons appeared on the path before them. A small gasp escaped her lips at the force of being pushed aside, and by the time she had clasped her hands over her mouth, the demons had already spun around and spotted them.

"Stay behind me," Illidan commanded, taking a protective stance in front of her. He felt that familiar flame searing at the insides of his veins, channeling through him as he drew on his inner mana and readied himself for the unavoidable. Maiev wished she had her weapon and armor, hating the feeling of being helpless and cowered behind him.

The demons snarled something to each other in a language neither of the elves understood, and then they were advancing upon the pair. Illidan didn't hesitate, raising a hand to unleash a wave of fire upon the monsters. The flames moved through the air in a flash of light and heat, scorching the flesh as they collided right with a demon's chest. It let out a feral screech that echoed in Maiev's ears, causing her to flinch.

The second demon, a four legged creature with giant spikes and rows of razored teeth, lunged aside, out of the way of the flames. As it charged at them, Illidan released another ball of fire towards it, knocking it back. He was focused on the beast as it came at them, and so didn't see the shadowy wraith gliding towards Maiev from behind them.

The elf girl threw up her hands, defenseless against the demon that was grabbing at her. She tried to focus on channeling the powers bestowed to her by Elune, but the goddess must not have been listening to her, and a moment later Maiev was knocked down onto the hard ground. The demon hovered over her, ready to strike, and just as a terrified scream escaped her lips, a broad sword ran through the monster, causing it to erupt into the air.

Maiev was left looking up into the dangerously glowing eyes of Lord Ravencrest. His armor was splattered with the green blood of the demons he had slain, his long hair tangled and pushed roughly out of his face. A few other soldiers lingered behind him. Maiev opened her mouth to thank him for saving her life, when an all too familiar face appeared, hovering much too close to her.

"Maiev," Jarod breathed, rushing to pull his younger sister up to her feet. He pulled her against his body, her cheek against the steel plate of his chest piece. "I'm so glad you're alright." The girl wrapped her arms around him tightly, feeling a wave of relief wash over her. Like no matter what happened, she would be okay, because Jarod was here and he was going to protect her.

Behind them, Illidan finished off the last demon, looking down for a few moments at the monster crumpled at his feet. He felt the arcane fires retreating back into him, his shaking hands cooling. He turned around towards the others, bowing his head slightly at Ravencrest. "This is a nightmare," he muttered. "What is Azshara thinking?"

Ravencrest shook his head a little. "I don't know, child," he replied in that paternal tone he often used when speaking with his apprentice. "I'm just thanking Elune we are all safe."

Illidan swallowed hard. They were safe, for now at least, but he still needed to reach the temple and find Tyrande. The demons were wrecking havoc all over the city, leaving little more but flames and death in their path. Breaking into the houses, slaughtering the elves, all at the orders of their queen. Already he was struggling to block out the images of the mangled bodies left behind, some of which they had spotted as they tried to escape the palace.

Ravencrest noticed the change in Illidan, offering him a small reassuring smile. It was strained, but it was the best he could muster. "Go," he commanded. "Find whoever you are looking for. Jarod and I will ensure Maiev is safe."

Illidan looked up to lock eyes with the small girl, who was still tucked into her brother's arms. She flashed him a quick and grateful smile, but it was streaked with a deeper pain she was failing to conceal. Illidan felt a tug at his heart, knowing fully well the reason she looked upset. But there were bigger issues going on here, and that could be dealt with later. He promised himself that when all this was done, he would talk it over with her, try to make her understand that for as long as there was a chance for him and Tyrande, that was all he would want.

He murmured a goodbye, promising to stay safe, and then parted from the group for the temple ahead.

...

Tyrande could hear the screams, echoing through the corridors of her temple. She could practically feel the pain reverberating off the walls. With her hands gripping her bow tightly, she moved carefully, silently, calling on the shadows to hide her and the blessings of Elune to keep her safe. Ash'alah was winding around her legs, keeping close. Every so often she would whimper and Tyrande would have to shoot her a silencing glance.

Another cry sounded from around the corner, loud enough to make the priestess freeze in her tracks. She had seen the monsters through her window as they descended upon the temple, rampaging through it and massacring all of her sisters one by one. Any thought of protecting herself had faded away, replaced by the need to save her friends.

Almost instinctually, she stretched a hand over her shoulder and freed an arrow from her quiver, readying it against the string of the bow. Though she had trained extensively with it when she was younger, often challenging the twins, and almost always beating them. But as she found her calling in the Sisterhood of Elune, she had sort of assumed the weapon to be a thing of her past. Nevertheless, once she picked it up, it was as though she had never put it down. She aimed ahead of her as she moved carefully, closer to the sounds of death.

A moment later, a small demon appeared at the end of the hallway. It tilted its head in unnatural ways, eyeing up Tyrande where she stood. The elf kept her head held high in spite of the trembling fear moving through her body. With her bow raised, she aimed, readying the shot. She held her breath as she released it, felt it slip through her fingers with a soft sound. Everything seemed slowed around her as she watched it fly through the air.

In the time it took for the arrow to strike, the demon had been able to shout out for backups. As its body crumpled from the impact, ten more took its place. They were tall, muscled and armored, with three massive spikes rising out from their spines. Each wielded a deadly weapon, and they all had their sights set on her. Tyrande felt herself take a few steps backwards, realizing that her bow was probably not going to be enough. One of the demons smirked to reveal a grotesque row of teeth, as if to confirm her fears.

The demons charged forward, but Tyrande held her ground. Ash'alah growled and pawed at the air in front of her, as if she might be able to stop the approaching onslaught. Her lips moved in a blur, the familiar words of prayer spoken under her breath, calling on her goddess to bless her and fill the priestess up with her light. Tyrande felt a warmth spreading through her, growing stronger with every second, and just as the demons closed in around her, she released it. The light exploded from within her, a bright flash that rushed forth and knocked the demons back as it collided with them.

The bodies fell in a heap around her. Tyrande was left panting for breath, exhausted from the sheer energy such a display had taken. She felt herself swaying and reached out for the wall to steady herself. Ash'alah brushed up against her ankles, mewling softly as though to remind the elf she was still there.

"Tyrande!"

The sound of her name floated down the hallway, slicing through the eerie silence that had been left behind in the wake of her own destruction. It took more energy than she cared to admit to lift her head, but she managed it, and when she did she saw Illidan standing at the far end of the open space. She breathed a sigh of relief, thrilled to see him and know that he had not perished in whatever strange turn of events had overrun her home.

Illidan, too, felt alleviation at the sight of her. She was a sight to see, standing amidst a pile of corpses, panting, her hair disheveled around her face from the force of her attack. Seeing her struggling just to stay upright, Illidan rushed forward so that she could collapse into his arms. He held her up against him, brushing her hair back, promising her that it was all going to be okay, whispered words she barely heard.

"Illidan," she breathed, the words coming out in hot little breaths against his neck. "Illidan, what's happening? What are those things?"

"Shh," he murmured, lips pressed against the top of her head. "I don't know," he replied. And at the moment, he didn't particularly care. All that mattered was that she was there, she was safe, she was his-

"Where is Malfurion?" Tyrande asked then, lifting her head, pulling away enough that she could look up into his eyes.

Illidan felt a sharp pain deep in his chest, what he imagined it might feel like to have his heart break. She just spoke his name with such adoration and concern, and Illidan doubted very much that her lips would ever say his name in that same way.

But, just as he had told himself with Maiev, there would be time to figure out their own tangled mess of emotions later. For now, they needed to focus on what was really important, which was making sure they were all safe, and trying to figure out what to do now that their entire world had been turned upside down. And as envious as he may have been of the way Tyrande's eyes glossed over at the mention of his brother, he would never wish anything bad upon him.

So, he released his grip on her, and he gave a sharp nod. "We will find him," he assured her. "He's going to be just fine. He is one of the most powerful people I've ever met."

Tyrande wanted very much to believe his words. She nodded, still feeling somewhat weak and breathless from the exertion. Still, she reached down to scoop Ash'alah up into her arms, cradling the kitten to her chest. The small animal eyed Illidan carefully before curling up against her mother. "Come on," she said, taking a careful step over the bodies on the floor. Illidan had no choice but to trail after her and try to ignore that nagging feeling that this was only the beginning of the end of all he had ever known.


	12. Chapter 12

_**twelve **_

Illidan was working very hard to remind himself that Tyrande's hand in his own didn't mean a thing. She was scared, and though he was hiding it better, he was streaked with fear of his own. He didn't know what was going to happen, he didn't know what he was supposed to do, he didn't know how to protect those that he loved. As the pair emerged hand in hand from the temple, he scanned the devastation that lay before them.

He started to open his mouth and ask where she though Malfurion might be when he spotted a massive bear barreling towards the temple, battling a slew of demons with it's teeth and claws. It took him a moment to realize it was no ordinary bear, but rather a Druid in bear form. No sooner had Tyrande breathed his brother's name, and then she was nocking an arrow and aiming it towards one of the demons. Illidan sprang into action, summoning up his own flames and releasing them on the monsters as they descended the temple steps towards his twin.

Once all the demons lay dead around them, Malfurion shifted back into his elf form. Illidan blinked a few times, unsure if he would ever get used to witnessing that change. Malfurion pushed his messy hair away from his frowning face. "What is happening?" He asked quickly. "I saw these...these creatures, going into homes, slaughtering everyone in their sights." His voice was laced with a heavy pain.

Tyrande shook her head. Illidan became aware of the absence of her hand in his, as she reached out to rest her fingers lightly on Malfurion's upper arm. "They killed nearly all the priestesses in the temple. I-" her voice caught in her throat as her sorrow that she had been trying so hard to choke back threatened to escape. "I haven't seen anyone at all."

The elder of the brothers glanced at Illidan, who merely shrugged, lowering his gaze to the floor. "Maiev is safe with her brother," he finally said. "I- well, we were there, when the demons arrived."

A small noise escaped Tyrande's lips, somewhere between surprise and sympathy. "What happened?" She asked softly, reassuringly. Illidan took a breath and then recounted as best he could the events of the party, explaining what Azshara had said about the new world, as well as what Vashj had revealed about the massacre of the Kaldorei. He told them how he and Maiev had escaped and come to find them, running into Ravencrest and his small band of resistant soldiers.

Malfurion's expression as he listened was a cross between anger and hurt, both at the thought of the queen they had all trusted and revered so much turning on them so easily. "We have to do something," he concluded. "We have to get help. We have to-"

"What can we do?" Illidan snapped, cutting him off roughly, arms crossed over his chest. "Look at how many of them there are. They'll surely send in more." Illidan recalled behind closed eyes the towering leader of the troops. He gestured to the last remnants of the chaos around them. "A small band of elves is nothing compared to this."

Malfurion sighed in frustration, knowing that his brother was right. They were going to need help if there was any hope of stopping this enemy. But where could they go? Who could they turn to? He glanced over at Tyrande, as though the young priestess might have the answers. She herself appeared lost in thought, or perhaps it was in prayer that Elune would grant her strength and guidance through this dark time.

If that was the case, it must have worked, because her head suddenly snapped up, glowing eyes opening wide. "Cenarius," she blurted, returning Malfurion's stare. "He trained you, did he not? He favors you, Mal. We could go to him, ask him for aid. Surely there must be something he can do, being as powerful as he is."

Thinking on it, Malfurion could not find any flaws in her thinking. If there was anyone that could offer them assistance, it was their demigod, the very same that had taught him all he knew of being a Druid.

Illidan was less convinced. How could he leave everything behind, leave all that he had even known, aware that if they returned it may not even be there anymore? And how could he stray from the Well? Everyone knew that it was the source of all their magic, and without it he would be virtually useless to them anyway.

But Tyrande was looking at him with wide eyes and parted lips, and before he knew it her hands had reached out to grasp his, giving them a tight squeeze. "Illidan," she murmured. "You know you cannot continue to convene with the Highborne. Not after what they've done."

The dark haired elf turned his head away, unable to hold her gaze and see the emotions there. Of course he knew she was right. He couldn't possibly continue to support a queen that had ordered the mass murder of his people on a whim. But he had finally started to feel like he had his place, and now that was all being ripped away from him.

Tyrande sucked in a breath and then moved closer to pull her friend into a hug. Illidan tensed against her hold, but relaxed after a moment and slung his own arms around her slender body. "I will go with you," he spoke at last into her hair. Because he knew in the bottom of his heart, there was just no way he could be away from her, and if giving up everything was what it took to stay with the girl he loved, then it seemed a small price to pay.

She released him, but took his hand in hers once more. Her other hand linked with Malfurion's and she did her best to smile up at each of them. In spite of their world quite literally falling to pieces around them, they were together. For now, at least, that was enough for her.

…

Maiev wrapped her arms around her knees, swaying slightly and doing everything in her power not to cry. Every part of her body ached, the gown she wore was completely shredded and stained, and she felt as though it had been a lifetime since she had been fleeing the Eternal Palace with Illidan at her side. In reality, it had been only a few passing hours, and in that short time all she had known had managed to crumble down.

The small group of elves had moved out of the city, and had set up a small camp on the outskirts. They were, hopefully, far enough to avoid drawing too much attention, but they were close enough that Maiev was able to see the fires and smoke as they licked at the dawning sky, a constant reminder that all she had ever known and loved was gone.

A heavy hand fell on her shoulder. It drew her out of her own thoughts and back to reality, and when she looked up she saw her brother looking back at her with a grin expression. Maiev tried to muster a smile for him, but it was so weak and feeble it only made her feel worse. A few of the tears she had been working so hard to hold back spilled forth, rolling down her cheeks. She squeezed her eyes shut, tried to make them stop, and when she opened her eyes again Jarod was kneeling in the grass at her side, pulling her into his arms.

"It's okay, little sister," he murmured against her hair, even though they both knew it was most certainly not. Still, she allowed him to hold her and whisper meaningless words to her in a vain attempt to comfort her and calm her fears.

After what seemed like forever, he finally let her go, but his hands remained on her upper arms, keeping her in place as he gave her a serious look. "I have something for you," he said to her. A frown creased her brow as she watched him pull away row as she watched him pull away, retreating back towards the camp. When he returned, he set down her armor and the umbra crescent in the grass at her feet. She looked up at him with a wide eyed, uncertain expression. Jarod rubbed at the back of his neck and glanced away. "I said I hoped you would never have to use it, but…" he trailed off. "At least you were trained on how to use it."

Maiev nodded slowly. She knew she should thank him, because getting the armor from their house had probably not been an easy feat, but she was just so numb from everything she couldn't even form the words. She returned to staring blankly ahead. The mention of her training brought Illidan to the front of her mind, and she wondered if he had managed to find Tyrande, and if they were somewhere safe. A part of her hoped, perhaps naively, that he might find his way back to her and help them defeat this imposing evil. But she had this nagging feeling she would not be seeing him for a long while, and she could only hope that he was able to keep himself alive long enough for them to eventually reunite.

Then again, he might not even want that. He had Tyrande now, and it had been made all too clear to her that she was all that mattered to him. And Maiev was nothing, just some smitten little girl that barely even crossed his mind. And why not? Tyrande was beautiful, and she was powerfully blessed by Elune, and they had known each other all their lives. Why wouldn't Illidan want her?

A drawn out sigh fell from the elf girl's lips. She knew there were much more important things for her to think of at that moment. Like how she could help Ravencrest and the rest of the resistance in retaliating against the demon armies. Maiev laid back into the dewy grass and closed her eyes. She thought about saying a prayer, asking Elune for guidance, but she couldn't think of anything to say to her, so she focused instead on clearing her mind completely. She would need to at least try and rest if she had any hope of surviving whatever the next few days would hold for her.

As she shifted around a bit, her fingers came in contact with the cool plate of her armor. She opened her eyes once more, rolling over onto her side and gazing at it for a long moment. In that moment she was finally able to see what it really meant, more than just metal, but the difference between life and death. _Her _life and death. It was all that would keep her safe when she was being charged down by whatever terror sought to destroy her. It was her protection, her sanctuary, her safe place to hide. And the umbra crescent was her way to carry out her revenge on everyone and everything that had taken her home from her.

She felt a swelling anger rising up in pit of her stomach, searing at her lungs and veins with a fiery passion she had never felt before. A deep need for vengeance and justice against all that had hurt her and the people she loved. Somehow, she would pull herself back together and she would stop at nothing to right the wrongs that had been done.

For the first time since fleeing the palace, Maiev felt a small streak of bravery. It felt as though she was just waking up for the first time, and through the lingering smoke and haze of disaster, she could see clearly what she had to do. And it wouldn't be easy, but she would persevere. She would press on relentlessly in the hopes of defending whatever was left of her shattered life.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: We now take a break from our regularly scheduled program to give a special shoutout to Blame the Priest, who has taken it upon herself to endure my ceaseless ramblings about all sorts of random things. Most related to WoW, littered with a whole lot of complaining about how much I don't want to go to work. Ever. Anyway, I am celebrating my day off, and i'm feeling so generous that if I can finish another chapter, I'll post two! Okay, okay, I'm done, I swear. Sorry to interrupt. Insert disclaimer here. Send me love! xx**

_**thirteen**_

Tyrande carefully lifted the skirts of her long white dress with one hand as she stepped over some fallen branches. The other was trying to cradle Ash'alah to her chest, since the kitten had decided she refused to walk on her own. The young priestess had come close to losing her balance more than once from how wild and overgrown the forest was.

They had barely stopped to rest at all since leaving, and Tyrande felt as though they had been wandering around aimlessly ever since. She had no idea where they were, no idea where they were going. More than once she had started to wonder if Cenarius even existed at all. Malfurion had left them to scout ahead from the air, leaving them to find their way through the thick forest.

It was hard for her to keep her thoughts from straying as she walked, her mind replaying her night in the temple with Malfurion. Her skin could still feel his touch upon it; her lips recalled the gentleness of his kisses. She wished they would have gotten a chance to at least acknowledge afterwards, because as it was she sort of felt as though she had no idea where they stood with each other. She didn't know what was going to come of their relationship now that they had solidified such an intimate bond.

Not that it particularly mattered at the moment. Presently, she was more concerned with keeping herself alive long enough to even get to talk about it.

Illidan appeared suddenly at her side, a hand grabbing onto her arm to steady her, the other reaching out to scoop Ash'alah up by her fur. The kitten purred quietly, nuzzling up against him. Tyrande clung onto him as he guided her through the underbrush to a small opening in the trees. She pulled away from his touch, perhaps too suddenly, biting down on her lower lip. She hated the fact that she hadn't told him what had happened. She couldn't ever remember a time she had kept secrets from Illidan, and ever since Malfurion's return she felt like she had been shutting him out more and more. But what could she say to him? She doubted he would understand what had transpired, and the last thing she wanted to do was cause a rift between their trio when they needed each other more than ever.

The way Tyrande would not meet his gaze did not go unnoticed by Illidan. "We can wait here for my brother," he told her, setting the small animal down on the ground. Ash'alah immediately trotted back towards her mother, dashing in between her legs, brushing against them. He turned away quickly and began scanning their surroundings, taking them in, memorizing them and taking note of any places from which they might be attacked. Though they were far from Suramar, it didn't hurt to be overly careful, and he hadn't the slightest idea how far Azshara's terror might spread.

As Illidan looked around Tyrande sat down in the center of the clearing, pulling her saber up into her lap. She focused her attention on petting her instead of remaining so lost in her head. But apparently it wasn't enough to wipe the uncertain expression from her face, because when he turned back towards her, Illidan could clearly see that something was on her mind. He moved over to her and plopped down in the grass at her side, legs stretched out before him, arms extended behind him to prop him up. He stole a few glances at her from the corner of his eye.

"I can tell something is bothering you," he murmured quietly.

Tyrande flinched against the words, working hard to keep her gaze fixed on Ash'alah. She wanted very much to tell him, if only because she hadn't gotten to tell anyone, and she was trying desperately to process it all. And aside from all of that, he was her best friend, and she hated keeping things from him. Besides, she knew all too well that Illidan could see right through her anyway. She had never been able to conceal her feelings from him. But what if Malfurion didn't want anyone to know? What if she was supposed to keep it a secret? And should she really have been dwelling so much on something like this when there were so many more severe issues at hand?

Illidan did his best to keep a blank expression as Tyrande struggled with her inner conflict at his side. Whatever it was, it was clearly enough that it was tearing her up, and the fact that she was so hesitant to tell him made him nervous. His mind strayed from bad to worse to unfathomable. What hurt the most, he thought, was the fact that in all the years he had known her, she had never hesitated to tell him anything.

Eventually, Tyrande realized that the chances were Illidan would find out anyway, and she might as well just come out and tell him. She was dying to get it out, if only because saying it aloud might confirm how real it was. She pushed Ash'alah aside so that she could pull her knees up to her chest, resting her chin upon them. "You have to promise not to be mad," she finally replied, her voice a bit childish. Her bottom lip was jutting out slightly to match.

Illidan dug his fingers into the grass and pulled out a few blades. His mind flashed back to that night he had caught Tyrande and Malfurion kissing, the ache in his chest he was so sure would never leave again. He supposed it really hadn't; it had merely been pushed aside so that he could distract himself with other things, with Maiev and his magic. "I could never be mad at you, Tyra," he said to her.

In spite of everything, she smiled up at him, and after only a moment, she scooted closer to him so that she could lean her head against his broad shoulder. "Well," she began. "See, a few nights ago...Malfurion and I...I mean, we..." She trailed off, finding that it was harder to find the words than she had expected.

It was more than enough for Illidan to figure out the rest. He felt each muscle of his body tense up, felt a deep anger and sorrow mixing together, coursing through him. He felt the urge to break down and scream, the urge to destroy everything in his sight. He wasn't sure which was stronger. His fingers pressed hard into the dirt as he closed his eyes and tried to focus all his attention on steadying his breathing. But behind closed eyes he found himself plagued with images better left unseen, so they snapped back open, wide and feral.

When he finally got somewhat of a grip on himself, he let out a long breath and nodded slowly. "I see," he said, because it was the best he could manage to get out. "So, are the two of you..."

"I do not know," she replied with a weary sigh. "That's why I am so troubled. I don't know what is going to happen with us now. And with everything else that is going on, I may never find out." Her voice was quivering as if she might burst into tears at any given second. As upset as he may have been at this new revelation, Illidan still loved her with all that he had, and the thought of her being distressed was too much for him. After a slight hesitation, he slipped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her into his lap.

Tyrande felt safe there, and curled up against him so that she could bury her face and hide the few stray tears that broke past her barriers. She knew that she would be needed all her strength in the coming days, and so she decided that allowing herself some weakness now was not so bad. Having Illidan there to hold her and comfort her reminded her of the many months they had spent together in Malfurion's absence. She wondered if he would ever know how eternally grateful to have someone who was there for her no matter what.

Soon, a yawn escaped her lips as the events of the day finally caught up to her body. She allowed her eyes to slip closed, her hands gripping onto his arms. Illidan rocked his body gently back and forth until he was sure she had fallen asleep, his calloused fingers moving a few strands of navy hair away from her face. He traced the curve of her jaw, the crease of her forehead, the length of her ear. His heart was pounding rapidly in his chest, threatening to tear right through him. Illidan leaned in closer, until he was able to brush his lips against her cheek.

At the sound of approaching steps through the woods, he straightened up quickly, jostling her body enough to elicit a sleepy moan from her. He craned his neck to see his twin emerging into the clearing. "She was tired," Illidan said gruffly, his only form of greeting. Then, he added, "What were you able to find?"

Malfurion came over to where his brother was sitting and lowered himself at his side. Illidan caught the way his bright eyes lingered upon Tyrande where she lay his lap. Illidan resisted the urge to pull her in closer. "We aren't too far from Hyjal now," he answered. The trio might have even been able to see the mountain in the distance if not for the ancient trees stretching high above them. "That is where we will find Cenarius."

"And you're certain he will help us?" Illidan replied. If not, he didn't think there was anything they could do to protect their home or their people. If there was even anything left to protect by the time they found the elusive demigod.

Malfurion nodded. "I have faith, yes."

A silence fell over them now, one Illidan would not quite describe as comfortable. As he stared off into the stillness of the woods, his thoughts remained fixed on what Tyrande had told him. He knew it was unfair of him to be upset with her, when he had never made any effort to express his emotions. But that didn't make it any easier to block out the hurt and betrayal he felt welling up inside of him. He supposed he had been clinging to the hope that maybe she might realize one day her feelings for him, but that was appearing to be little more than a delusion.

From where he sat at his side, Malfurion watched his brother carefully. He could read his expression like an open book, could easily see the frustration etched into his features. But he had long since learned better than to push him. Illidan would open up when he was ready, if that time ever came. He turned his attention instead to Tyrande, unconscious in his twin's arms, clinging to him as though in an unknowing plea for protection. He couldn't help himself from reaching out to trail his fingers gently over her bare arm.

"Here," Illidan blurted suddenly, shifting his hold on Tyrande so that he could ease her over into his brother's lap. Malfurion was caught off guard, but quickly adjusted so that he could cradle her instead, one arm under her legs while the other supported her head. His gaze followed Illidan as he rose to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Malfurion called out after him.

Illidan didn't reply, just started to walk away from them, towards the edge of the forest. Really, he didn't know where he would go. He didn't even know where they were. He just knew that he couldn't stand to spend another minute sitting there in that thick tension. He couldn't stand another minute of pretending to be okay when he was anything but.

"Illidan," Malfurion called out again, his tone shifting to something more stern and commanding. "It isn't safe for you to just-"

"She told me," Illidan snapped, whirling around towards his brother. His twin, his other half. So much a part of him and yet so completely different they were practically opposites. And all he could think was that whatever it was Tyrande saw in Malfurion, she would surely never see in him, and whatever hope he had been clinging to was flickering out before his eyes.

Malfurion was frozen for a moment, staring back at Illidan without the slightest idea of what to say. He knew what he meant, of course. For some reason, he just hadn't expected it to matter much. What reasons did Illidan have to care about the private relations between himself and Tyrande? Unless there was something else, something he had never even considered before.

A frown creased his brow. "You...have feelings for her?"

His brother's silence was all the confirmation that he needed.

The Druid let out a lengthy sigh. He felt Tyrande roll over a bit in his arms, and tensed so as not to disturb her as she repositioned her small body. When he glanced back up, Illidan had crossed his arms over his chest and was doing his best to keep his amber eyes fixed on the ground. "I had no idea, Illidan."

The dark haired elf glanced up slowly, unable to keep all the fires out of his gaze. "Would it have mattered?" He asked, his voice deadly calm.

To that, Malfurion had no reply, because he honestly wasn't sure it would have. After a moment he slowly said, "Tyra is capable of making her own decisions."

"I'm well aware," Illidan scoffed. "She has it made perfectly clear what she wants." He started to turn away once again, determined to get away from them, away from this entire situation before he really did lose control of himself.

"And you're just...going to act like you're okay with this?" He asked. It wasn't quite requesting permission, but it might as well have been. Illidan could hear the trepidation in his voice. Malfurion was still trying desperately to keep them together, even though all the world was working to tear them apart.

Illidan glanced back over his shoulder. "I just want her to be happy," he murmured softly. His gaze moved to her slumbering form, trailing over her. Then he whirled around and started back off towards the trees, contemplating just leaving them behind. What did they need him for anyway? They had each other. Let them find Cenarius and save the day. Let them be the heroes.

Even as he thought all of these things, he knew that he would eventually find his way back to them, whether he wanted to or not.

Illidan stumbled around in the overgrown woods for a while longer, occasionally tripping over branches or vines, thankful at least for his natural ability to see better in the dark. The further he pressed, the harder it seemed to be to breathe, and he felt a repeatedly stabbing pain radiating from somewhere in his head. He finally decided to stop and try to figure out where he had ended up. When he reached out to grab onto a tree for support, he realized how terribly his hands were shaking.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out the pain, but with every passing second it seemed to get worse, like a blade right in the base of his skull, and the trembling moved from his hands to the rest of his body, until he collapsed onto the ground. He tried to steady his breathing, his heart rate, his shaking, anything at all, but he had lost control. As the world around him was swallowed up in darkness, there was nothing he could do to stop it.


	14. Chapter 14

_**fourteen**_

The forest was large and daunting, but Illidan wasn't afraid, not of anything. He ran until his small lungs threatened to give out, never once looking back.

Somewhere behind him, Tyrande followed, laughing wildly as she chased him. She knew she could catch him if only she pushed a little harder, and so she did, running with all she had in her, small bare feet padding against the grass and dirt.

"Illidan, wait!" She cried out after him, but he wasn't listening, or maybe she just wasn't screaming loud enough. Her chest was tight and she was feeling breathless, but she refused to let him beat her. Silently she called upon Elune, asking her goddess to help her catch him. It may have been childish, but to her it meant everything. Elune, at least, was listening to her, and after a moment Tyrande felt herself filled with a new strength, one that allowed her to move faster.

She caught up to him with ease now, falling into place at his side. The girl caught him glancing at her from the corner of his eye, causing her to grin widely at him before pressing on ahead of him. Illidan growled a little and tried to keep up, but he was no match for her anymore. The last remains of oxygen left his lungs, forcing him to slow to a stop. Panting and exhausted, he bent over, hands on his knees.

It took Tyrande a minute to realize Illidan was no longer running after her. She skidded to a stop, almost losing her balance, before she doubled back to where Illidan was standing. "Nice try," she giggled, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

"Not fair," Illidan grumbled, shaking off her hand. He straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest. He was impressed by her power, of course, but at the moment that was blotted out by his envy and frustration at being beaten by her again.

The pair collapsed onto the grass, Illidan leaning back on his hands, Tyrande resting her head upon his shoulder. They fell into a comfortable silence, enjoying the peace around them and the quiet of the forest they called home.

After a few minutes, when Illidan was certain he had regained his stamina and ability to breathe properly, he turned his head to look down at her. "Race you back to the temple," he said, amber eyes glowing. Before Tyrande could even process what he had said, he was up on his feet and taking off in a full sprint.

The young girl stumbled to her feet, tripping over the muddied skirts of her dress. "Illidan!" She shouted, laughing once more as she darted off after him. He ignored her voice as it reached him, determined not to let her best him once again.

The memories collapsed in around him as his eyes fluttered open, pierced by the stinging light of the sun as it filtered down through the trees. "Illidan," a soft voice spoke to him, and he became aware of hands gripping onto him lightly. Slowing, Tyrande's face hovering over him came into focus. The navy haired girl threw a glance over her shoulder. "Mal, he's waking up."

Illidan brought a hand up to his head as a tremor of pain moved through his entire body. He tried to grasp what had happened but could only recall the agonizing hurt and crashing unconsciously to the ground. Sitting up proved difficult, but he finally managed, drawing his knees up to his chest.

Tyrande wore an expression of worry that almost bordered on panic, her fingertips trailing over his skin. "What happened?" She urged. "Malfurion got worried when you didn't come back, and he found you here. We thought you were-"

"I'm fine," he interrupted. The words had no sooner left his lips when he felt a wave of nausea course through him, causing him to wrap his arms around his legs and double over.

Tyrande made a low humming noise in the back of her throat. "I can see that," she muttered, trying to mask the fear she felt for her friend. She started to close her eyes, intent on calling upon her goddess to offer some aid so that she might offer him some comfort, but Malfurion appearing suddenly at her side broke through her concentration.

"He isn't well," Malfurion said in a steady tone, his own glowing eyes travelling over his brother's form. "I'll not have him travelling like this. Tyra, you can st-"

"I said I'm _fine_," Illidan interjected. As if to prove his point, he started to push up to his knees so that he might stand, but a wave of dizziness caught up to him, and he all but toppled right back over into Malfurion's lap. His twin grabbed roughly onto his shoulder, managing to steady him. Illidan's expression turned slightly sheepish as he glanced up at him; Malfurion did not look so amused. "Maybe not completely fine," Illidan amended. "But I'll manage alright. I'm not going to slow us down, not when it is our people at stake. Who knows how much the demons have managed to destroy in our absence. No, I will press on, and we can find Cenarius and stop this madness."

The Druid was shaking his head before his twin had even finished talking. "I'm not going to put you in danger either," he retorted. "I can go on alone, and Tyrande can stay with you. I trust in her abilities to keep the both of you alive."

"But Mal-"

"Illidan," Tyrande spoke up, her voice so gentle and sweet that it calmed him instantly. "He is right. If something were to happen to you, what would we do?"

Illidan pushed a hand through his dark hair, letting out an exasperated sigh. It was pointless to argue, not with the both of them. He didn't stand a chance. Especially not against the way Tyrande was looking at him so pleadingly. Besides, if he agreed to stay behind, at least he would get some uninterrupted time with her, perhaps the last he would ever get if she was truly planning to be with Malfurion.

"Fine," he mumbled, lowering his gaze to the ground.

A brief moment of strained silence passed between the trio. Malfurion realized that his hands were still grasping onto Illidan's shoulders and quickly pulled away, rising up to his feet. "I will go as quickly as I can," he assured them. "Stay here, okay? Elune will watch over you both."

Tyrande flashed him a quick smile, but it wasn't as bright as he had imagined it might be. Then, immediately, her attention was focused back on his twin. Malfurion tried to pretend he hadn't noticed the pang in his heart at the fact. He thought about leaning in to kiss her, but decided against it, knowing that she would still be there when he returned. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling his muscles contort as he shifted forms and took off at a full sprint into the trees.

…

The day stretched on endlessly, painfully silent. Tyrande had spent far too long doting on him, murmuring little healing spells and running her hands over him, trying to spark any sort of conversation with her oldest friend. Illidan had spent the same time pretending that her spells were offering any sort of relief just so that she wouldn't leave his side, and trying to ignore her attempts at small talk. What could he possibly say to her? Each time he opened his mouth, he feared he might blurt out something offensive and insensitive, something that would reveal his hurt at what had transpired. Or maybe he wouldn't even be able to say anything at all, because the mere thought of speaking made him feel like he might fall over and die.

Tyrande was growing impatient with him and his blatant attempts to shut him out. She had tried to be understanding, because clearly he was suffering, but at some point it had become clear that he was putting more effort into shunning her than trying to recover at all. After a while, she had moved a few feet away from him, sitting with her back against a tree, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She focused all of her attention on watched Ash'alah chase the butterflies around the clearing, but couldn't seem to help herself from glancing up at him every few minutes.

She kept telling herself that it was just because he wasn't feeling well. He wasn't himself, and that was why he was locking her out. She was just making something out of nothing, just looking for problems when there weren't any. If she wanted something to worry about, there were about a thousand other options, instead of creating some false delusion in her head in which Illidan was upset with her over some imagined scenario. Through her lashes, she looked up at him once again. "What are you thinking about?" She called out across the clearing.

Silence was her only answer.

Letting out a slow breath, she uncrossed her arms and rose so that she could move to where he lay on his back in the center of the clearing, staring up at the darkening skies above them. She plopped back down at his side, repositioning herself so that she could lie beside him, her head tucked against his shoulder. Illidan tensed up at the sudden contact, but when she refused to pull away, she felt his muscles slowly start to relax.

"How are you feeling?" She tried instead.

When still she got no response, she decided that maybe now just wasn't the time for talking. She tried to mimic his interest in the stars that were flickering against the backdrop of the night, but her mind was racing and she couldn't seem to concentrate on them. Almost without realizing it, she brought her hand up to his chest, long fingers tracing the outlines of his muscled chest, drawing imaginary circles and swirls over his flesh.

His own hand snapped up suddenly, catching her wrist in a hold so tight it was almost painful. "Don't," he said, but it came out in more of a hushed whisper than a harsh command. But he never released it, just kept his own fingers clutching to her, their intertwined hands coming to rest together over his chest.

Tyrande felt at war with herself, laying there beside him, eyes struggling just to stay open. On the one hand, she felt a great sense of peace, of protection and familiarity in his presence. On the other hand, given what had transpired with Malfurion, she felt almost that she was betraying him. She tried to tell herself that this was nothing more than an innocent moment, trying to seek solace from each other in this time of great peril and fear. But somewhere deep inside of her, there was this twisting ache, this longing that felt more like pain than pleasure. Like she was denying herself something and she wasn't even sure what it was. 

Her thoughts were becoming far too twisted for her to even hope to pull back apart, and she was immensely happy when Illidan finally broke his own streak of quiet, effectively drawing her out of her own head.

"It's my magic," he said, his voice so low that she wasn't sure she even heard him speak, or rather just felt the rumble of his words move through her own body.

A frown creased her brow. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean, I can't- I don't have..." He trailed off, not bothering to finish that thought. "I've been trying to piece it together all day. I tried to cast, tried everything I know. Nothing works. It's like… like I can't access it, I guess. I think that might be why I feel so terrible. It's like I've been cut off from my own power supply-" His words were swallowed up in a fit of coughs that resulted in him jolting up and pushing her off of him. He rolled over onto his side, clutching at his stomach, squeezing his eyes shut as the trees around him swayed with his own lightheadedness.

"Hey," Tyrande murmured gently, sitting up beside him, hands moving over him. "Illidan, breathe, its okay."

He tried to focus all his attention on the sound of her voice instead of his own aching body. But he was shaking so bad it was almost impossible. His eyes were still closed, his breaths coming out heavily and frantic.

Tyrande wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, with her whispering quiet words to him that she doubted he even heard. At some point, she realized he had fallen asleep, and only then did she pull away. She was terrified for him, overwhelmed with fear and concern, praying over and over to Elune that he would be alright. Praying that soon this would all be over, and everything she loved would find a way to persevere.

The goddess must have been listening to her pleas, because a moment later, she heard the sound of rustling in the trees, accompanied by quickly approaching footsteps. Raising her head, she reached out to grab Ash'alah and pull the small kitten into her lap, just as Malfurion appeared before her once again. He looked exhausted and weary, but his eyes were aglow with a new spark that had not been there upon his departure.

"Tyrande," he murmured, her name always sounding so sweet when he spoke it to her. She managed to muster a small smile for him, running her hands steadily over her kitten's matted fur. "Everything is going to be okay now."

Her lips parted, the form of a question upon them, but before she could speak, a second figure appeared at Malfurion's side. She sucked in a breath as she took in the magnificent creature before her, the massive body of a great stag, the torso, glowing eyes and elongated ears of an elf. There was no doubt in her mind that this was Cenarius. They had found their demigod, this being of pure legend, and he was going to come and protect them from the dark forces that had come to overrun their land.

"Tyrande Whisperwind," The centaur greeted, bowing his head slightly. "Elune shines most brightly upon you. You and Malfurion both will have my aid, in whatever way I am able to help you."

Feeling a slight blush creep over her cheeks, wondering if maybe she should rise to her feet and greet him more properly, she managed to get out a quiet thanks. Her gaze strayed then, to the place where Illidan was still asleep. Malfurion's own eyes followed hers, watching his brother carefully. "Is he doing any better?" He asked.

Tyrande could only shrug in response. "I cannot be sure," she answered. "Perhaps we should wait to set off for home until he rises." If they even had a home to return to, she added silently in her head, before forcing herself to banish those thoughts.

Malfurion considered her suggestion, exchanging a glance with Cenarius. The demigod had been the one to teach him the arts of Druidism, educating him on how to connect to everything around him, to feel the shifts in the very earth under his feet, the warnings of the wind. At this moment, all he could feel was a renewed faith that they could reverse the damage that had been done. He finally nodded, taking a few easy steps so that he could go to where Tyrande sat. "We will leave first thing in the morning. We should probably rest now. Something tells me there won't be much time for it when we return."

Cenarius bowed his head in agreement. "I will go and round us up some more allies," he told them. "We will find a way to end this war."

Malfurion offered him the best smile of gratitude that he could muster up, before turning towards Tyrande. He reached up to brush her hair away from her bare shoulders, tracing the length of her collarbone, up to her jawline. He hoped that Cenarius was right, and that soon all would be at peace again. Pulling Tyrande in against him, turning to brush his lips against her temple, he clung to that hope.

Tyrande tried to relax into his hold, tried to draw on some of his strength, but she found it impossible, and she couldn't stop looking over at Illidan, and feeling this deep pain knowing that he was suffering so. She felt Malfurion's careful gaze upon her and forced herself to lower her eyes to the ground. "Everything will be alright," she murmured. But she wasn't even sure if she was trying to convince him, or herself.


	15. Chapter 15

_**fifteen**_

In the days that followed the invasion, the rebellion worked tirelessly. Small bands of elves ventured out to battle, to try and keep the demons at bay for as long as possible. Ravencrest led them fearlessly, somehow managing to keep up the morale in spite of the fact that the soldiers and refugees had literally just watched their city burn to the ground before their eyes.

Maiev spent those days aiding the soldiers in whatever ways she could, whether it was helping them into their armor or cleaning their weapons. Unable to sleep, she worked relentlessly through the days, finding ways to occupy her time. And always, whether she realized it or not, she watched the horizon in the hopes that she might see Illidan appear, returning safely to her.

But he never came, and the demons never seemed to back down, and by the third day, Maiev was beginning to lose hope in everything.

"Stay brave, little sister," Jarod spoke to her one night, as he was tearing pieces of bread apart and eating them slowly. Maiev didn't bother to lift her gaze from his sword, moving the scraps of cloth almost mechanically over the steel blade. "Each day we are getting stronger. We are learning new ways to fight back. The demon armies cannot last forever."

"But how many of our people must fall in the process?" She scoffed, finally throwing the cloth aside and bringing the blade in close to examine it, making sure it was perfect. Only when she was convinced did she pass it back to her brother.

Jarod took the weapon, offering a small smile. "You're too young to be so bitter," he said playfully, holding out a hand to pass her a chunk of the bread. Maiev all but ripped it from his hold, stuffing it into her mouth to use as an excuse not to reply. She knew that he was only trying to keep her positive, but all it seemed to do was push her further. How could he joke and smile in a time like this, when their people were left burning and trampled in the streets of their ruined city, and a wicked queen was commanding their annihilation?

"I'm not bitter," she retorted, once she had swallowed the dry mass of food. "I'm realistic. We don't even know how many of these creatures there are. And we are so few. It's going to take a miracle to stop this massacre."

Jarod rose to his feet, taking a few steps away from her, towards their makeshift encampment. As he brushed past her, he paused to ruffle her hair. "Well," he said. "You're the priestess, so I suppose you had better start praying."

…

Maiev awoke to the sound of hushed voices, her eyes fluttering open to see Ravencrest and Jarod standing close together, talking to an elf girl she didn't recognize. Barely managing to stifle a yawn, she pushed herself up into a sitting position.

"What's going on?" She called out.

Her brother spun towards her, clearly startled by her voice. His expression relaxed into something close to relief. "Maiev. I'm glad you're awake. We have a job for you."

Tucking a loose strand of pink hair behind her long ear and out of her face, Maiev blinked slowly. "For me?" She repeated hesitantly. What could they possibly have for her to do, aside from keeping the soldiers as fed as possible and whatever other trivial jobs had been filling her time?

Surprisingly, it was Ravencrest that nodded. He swept a large hand towards the small elf girl at his side, and only then did Maiev really get a chance to look at her. She seemed quite young, with knotted hair of a pale blue and a terrified expression on her face. She was dressed in a tattered and torn white gown, the telling robes of a priestess. "We've received word that there is a small group of priestesses are hiding out in the temple with the High Priestess," he explained. "None of my soldiers know the inside of that place. But you studied there, correct?"

Maiev found herself unable to do little more than nod.

Ravencrest glanced at her brother only for a moment, before turning her once again. "I- _we_ want you to go find them, and to escort them back here."

Maiev blinked a few times, allowing his words to fully process. She was caught somewhere between fear and pride. Fear that she wasn't quite ready for such a daunting task, pride that this great general trusted her to do it. From the sounds of it, he trusted only her to do it.

Finally, she bowed her head towards him. "I will go immediately," she answered. "If my sisters need my aid, I will not let them down."

Something close to a smile flickered across Ravencrest's lips, but it was gone long before she could ever be sure it had been there at all.

...

Suramar was ruined. Nearly every building had been leveled to the ground, and the ones that did remain were so badly damaged Maiev doubted they could ever be repaired. From where she hid behind a tree, calling on the shadows to hide her from any unseen enemies, she scanned her surroundings for a sign of danger.

It was a straight shot to the temple, and as far as she could tell there were no demons in sight. She shifted her weight a little in her heavy armor, her muscles getting reacquainted with its weight encompassing her. Her protection, her sanctuary. The umbra crescent in her hands glinted slightly in the moonlight, as though Elune herself was shining down upon her.

Taking a deep breath, she looked over each shoulder, and then took off at a full sprint towards the temple entrance. The priestess at the encampment had done her best to explain to Maiev where High Priestess Dejahna and the others were hiding. Though her words had come out shaky and full of fright, Maiev had at least a vague idea as to where she was heading.

She did her best to keep her steps silent as she moved through the darkened corridors, towards the personal quarters of the High Priestess that were located in the center of the temple. Usually, these halls were aglow with the light of the moon, but it seemed that in the wake of the destruction, even that had abandoned them. Maiev barely managed to fight off a scowl behind her helm.

An echoing scream broke through her own disdain, her head snapping up towards the sound. Without a second of hesitation, she bolted down the hall, skidding to a halt as she rounded a nearby corner.

The door to the chambers had been broken right off its hinges, snapped in two and cast aside. Through the opening Maiev could see one of the four-legged demons running rampant around the room as a group of elves tried to keep it at bay with simple spells. They hardly even affected the monster. Maiev chewed at the insides of her cheeks, watching with trepidation as the scene before her unfolded. But when a desperate plea, a half choked out prayer to Elune, reached her eyes, she felt a fire spark inside of her, a rage like she had never felt before. It drove her to lift her blade and charge into the room. For a moment, she ceased to be anything more than a weapon, a force driven by fury and a need to protect her people from this danger.

Barely a minute passed before the demon lay dead at her feet, and Maiev stood over it, gasping for breath, her blade dripping thick green blood. There were seven priestesses in all, each glancing warily between her and the newly slaughtered demon. With her chest rising and falling, she used her free hand to reach up and pull off her helm.

It was a familiar girl that stepped forward, a deep frown pulling at her brows, one that was recognized immediately as Ellison. A close friend of Tyrande. "M-Maiev?" She stammered. "What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like?" She snapped. "I'm saving you." She paused for a moment, shaking out her matted hair and taking in the destroyed room. "Where is the High Priestess?"

Ellison lowered her stare to the ground before her feet. "She...I mean, she didn't…"

Maiev felt her heart lurch slightly in her chest. It wasn't as though she had been particularly close to the woman, but she had still held a high respect for her as a mentor. And the realization that these demons were capable of felling the most powerful person Maiev had ever known did not sit well with her. If even Elune's own chosen one could not defend herself, there really was no hope for a small band of most untrained refugees.

"Let's go," Maiev blurted suddenly, surprised at the commanding tone of her own voice. She lifted the helm carefully and slipped it back on, the metal cold against her skin as it concealed and protected her face. "There is a small encampment just north of here where the soldiers are rallied." She turned abrupt end and began to lead them away, clutching to her weapon like it was all she had in the world.

A sudden hand shot out to wrap around her wrist, strong enough to hold her back. "Maiev, wait," a high-pitched voice spoke, and when she glanced over she could see Ellison standing closely at her side. "Where is Tyrande?"

It took everything in her not to flinch at the sound of the name. "She's gone," she said sharply, ripping her arm free of the hold.

Ellison stood frozen for a moment, her bottom lip jut out and trembling, her glowing eyes wide. "W-what do you mean, gone?" She stammered out, her voice soft and broken. Maiev felt a pang of sympathy, knowing that only days ago she had been not so very different, until we had realized that being broken wasn't going to keep her alive in this war zone. "Maiev, is she..."

"She left with the Stormrage brothers," Maiev cut her off in an icy tone, ignoring the twinge in her chest. "I don't know where she is, and I don't particularly care. Right now, all that matters is getting us back to safety."

If Ellison had been planning on saying anything else, the words never made it out. She snapped her jaw shut and fell back into place among the other priestesses. A few of them exchanged uncertain glances, but they all knew that their only real hope of making it out of here was trusting in Maiev. They just hoped she knew what she was doing.

It didn't take the small group long to reach the entrance of the temple. Maiev was overly cautious, pausing at the ends of each corridor, peering around the corner with her weapon ready to strike out. But nothing ever came for them, and she was starting to grow wary of just how simple this was turning out to be. Where was the onslaught of demons coming to stop them? Where were Azshara's armies coming to slaughter the last of their race? Where were-

An unnatural hiss broke through her thoughts. Whirling around, Maiev saw a pair of glowing red eyes peering at her through the darkness of the hall. "Get behind me," she whispered urgently to the others, raising her weapon to ready herself for combat. Her heart was pounding so hard she swore it must have echoed under her chest plate. In a split second she tried to recall all the training she had ever received, tried to block out her own fears and focus on that instead. She drew on some source of confidence she hadn't even been aware that she had, and prepared herself for the fight.

"Maiev," Eliison's voice broke through the echoing of her own thoughts, a harsh whisper that demanded her attention. Maiev glared over her shoulder, intent on silencing the girl, when she saw the reason for her warning. Behind them were at least two dozen more of the dark creatures, all armed and ready to take them down. Suddenly, every ounce of confidence the elf girl had been able to muster vanished from her. There was no way they could take them down. Not on her own, with only a group of novice Priestesses.

There was a prolonged moment of utter silence, in which Maiev was quite sure she managed to recount each moment of her short life. Was this how it would end, swarmed on the steps of her own temple, where she had sworn her life to the service of a goddess that seemed to have conveniently forgotten her devotion?

As the first demon lunged at her, she choked back her own bitterness, raised the umbra crescent, and faced him full on.

She managed to fell at least two demons, feeling her blade pierce through their leathery flesh, seeing their blood splatter against her silver plate armor. She was vaguely aware of the priestesses behind her, working in pairs, using every spell they possibly knew. It barely even mattered. Maiev refused to look back, afraid of what she might find, knowing that any sign of defeat would break her down completely.

_Elune_, Maiev thought desperately, swinging her curved blade out towards another demon, missing by a mere inch when he kept back away from her. _If you have ever loved me, please, please grant me your strength to protect your children. _Another attack. This time, she heard the telling snap of bones. _Please, Elune, please don't let us die here. _

The demons did not seem to stop. As Maiev managed to bring down another one, two more appeared in its place. "Ellison!" She called out, her voice rising above the commotion. "Ellison, get everyone out of here!"

There was no reply. A small ripple of panic moved through her, and after dodging a swing from her enemy, she spun around to check on the others. She regretted it immediately. Ellison was pinned to the ground, arms and legs flailing against the demon that held her. A few of the others, girls that Maiev had sat in classes with and yet couldn't even name, were casting their spells, trying to assist in any way the could.

A few of the others were laying in the floor, broken bodies and faded eyes. It was an image Maiev knew she would never forget.

Maiev threw herself towards Ellison, and in a fit of strength she hadn't known herself capable of, kicked the demon square in the chest. The crunch of bones filled her ears as the monster toppled back off the small girl.

"Thanks," she said, as Maiev shifted her hold on the umbra crescent and pulled Ellison up to her feet.

"No prob-" she began to reply, but the words died in her throat as she saw a new enemy approaching. It was the largest demon she had ever seen, armored and bearing a gigantic sword. It was coming up the temple stairs, threatening to tear right through the archways of the building. It was getting closer to their small group and shouting out some words in its foreign tongue.

There was no way they could take that thing down. Not alone, not when the girls were so weakened and even Maiev herself was growing weary. But the resistance camp was too far away; there was no way they could get reinforcements. She had to try.

Ellison, sensing her hesitation, gave her hand a slight squeeze. "Elune will protect you."

Maiev wanted desperately to believe her words, but there was a terror in her veins that she just couldn't escape. The demon paused for but a second, and she swore in that passing moment he was looking right at her.

That was as close as he got to them. Before he could take another step, a blinding flash of golden light appeared, crashing right into the beast. He staggered back, whirling around towards the source of the light. Standing a few years away, with her head held high, was Tyrande. She was flanked by the twins, one on either side of her. "Stay away from my temple," she growled, her voice ringing out over everything else.

As if the demon had understood her at all, he raised his weapon in an almost beckoning way. Daring her to try and stop him. Tyrande was not about to back down from the challenge. Her lips began moving in some silent prayer, moving so fast Maiev wasn't even sure she could possibly be speaking. She lifted her hands, channeling her energies to release another great flash of glowing light.

The demon gave a fierce cry, but Tyrande didn't even flinch. Maiev watched her from the entrance of the temple with widened eyes, taking in her grace and bravery, knowing that these were things granted to her by Elune. And for that split second, regardless of any jealousy or hard feelings she might have harbored towards the other girl, all that she felt was respect. Because it was clear for anyone to see that Tyrande was far beyond any of the other priestesses, and that their goddess had chosen her.

It wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind, but in a way, she supposed, Elune must have been listening.

It didn't seem to take much effort for Tyrande to topple the demon over, its chest sinking as the final breath faded from its lungs. For a long moment, the unlikely group was suspended in silence. Maiev tried desperately to catch Illidan's gaze, tried to get any sort of reply from him, but he kept his head down the entire time, and he seemed to be standing a bit too close to Malfurion, almost like he was leaning on him for support.

It was Ellison that finally broke the silence. She made her way quickly down the temple steps and over to her friend, pulling her into a tight embrace. "Tyra," she said in a voice filled with relief. "I'm so glad you're alright."

Tyrande pulled back enough to give her slight smile. "I'm fine," she assured her.

Releasing her hold, Ellison gave a sharp nod. "Good," she said, taking a step away from her. Her expression darkened visibly, causing a twisting knot to form in the pit of Tyrande's stomach. "Because I'm afraid I have grave news. The High Priestess….She…She didn't make it out with us." As the words left her mouth, Tyrande gave a slight gasp, her lungs constricting to make it nearly impossible to breathe. She blinked for a long moment, felt the sudden weight of Malfurion's hand on her shoulder, a silent reassurance. How could it be possible? Did the power of these otherworldly monsters truly know no limits, that they could defeat someone blessed with all the power and knowledge of Elune?

Ellison allowed her friend a few moments to grieve internally. "Tyrande," she finally said, forcing the other girl to look back up at her. A new weariness had settled into her expression, one she was trying and failing to conceal. "Before she...well, right before it happened, she told me to make sure that you were named the new High Priestess."

Tyrande was barely able to comprehend the words she was hearing. Her, the High Priestess? She had barely even been indicted into the Sisterhood. How could she possibly be expected to lead them and teach them things that she herself barely understood?

Before she could get any deeper into thought, a low cough interrupted her. Tyrande looked up to see Maiev standing a few feet away, cradling her helm once more. The priestess hadn't even realized that she was there, and paused for a moment to take in the unique set of plate that encompassed her small frame, and the deadly looking blade that she held. "You...you saved them?" She asked in a soft tone, one that might have bordered on disbelieving, though Maiev had no intentions of calling her out on it. She replied only by nodding, to which Tyrande allowed a gracious smile to overcome her face. "Thank you. This servitude will not be forgotten."

Maiev managed to keep her own facial features impassive. "You forget," she retorted, "that they are my sisters as well. Now come on. More demons will surely come after the display you just gave. I'd prefer to be away from here when they do." With that, she turned sharply on her heel, slipped the helmet back into place, and started away. It took more strength than she cared to admit to stop herself from glancing back at Illidan.

Tyrande hesitated for only a moment, knowing that they had no choice but to follow after her lead. She fell back into place beside Malfurion, reaching out to take his hand in her own. Ellison's words rang out in her mind once again, echoed by her own doubts about her abilities to fulfill such a role.

"Try not to worry about it now," Malfurion spoke up, as if he had read her very thoughts. "There will be time for it later. For now, we need to get back to camp and devise a plan. Cenarius should be here anytime now, and we will be able to strike back at the demons."

He sounded so totally confident in his words, and Tyrande couldn't help but draw on that a bit. He was right, as usual. Right now, they needed to focus on this threat to their people. There would be time to think about the future later, after they had made sure there would even be a future for them.


	16. Chapter 16

_**sixteen**_

Queen Azshara rested her slender fingers on the railing of the balcony, her glowing eyes transfixed on the Well of Eternity below her. Legions of demons were patrolling around it, and behind her the once great city of Suramar lay in ruins. Everything was going perfectly according to her plans.

"We should not delay much longer," a deep voice spoke out from behind her.

Blinking slowly, she turned to face the massive form of Archimonde, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "We are making progress," she retorted sharply. "The Kaldorei are too weakened to fight back now. The Highborne can begin opening the portal."

Archimonde made a low sound in the back of his throat, something close to a growl. "My master will quickly lose his patience with you," he told her, narrowing his unnatural green eyes. "Perhaps start to...doubt your fealty."

Azshara clenched her hands into fists, so hard that her sharpened nails dug into her palms. "How dare you question my loyalty to Sargeras," she hissed. "There are none who adore him as I do! None who desire his presence here as much as me!"

The eredar eyed her with trepidation, gauging her with his heavy stare. Though he understood her necessity to their plans, Archimonde could not help but occasionally question whether they might have found someone less infuriating. "I will leave it to you then," he muttered, at last turning away. "You should begin the summoning immediately."

Once he was gone, Azshara rolled her eyes and returned to her post by the edge of the balcony. Tonight, she would call on her Highborne, and they would begin to open the portal that would welcome Sargeras. Then, all the world would tremble and shake before their power, and bow before their eternal queen.

…

"The demons are spreading farther into the woods," Ravencrest explained, his tone low and serious. "They destroy everything in their path. My soldiers have managed to hold them off, but we are losing too many too fast."

Cenarius, towering over even the tallest of the elves, bowed his head towards the general. "My allies and I will aid you in any way that we can," he assured him. "I will not sit by and watch these strange creatures destroy my sacred homeland and threaten its creatures."

Ravencrest gave the demi-god a slight smile of gratitude. "For that, you have our thanks."

From where she sat on the ground a few feet away from the others, Tyrande tried to concentrate on the discussions of strategy. But it was nearly impossible for her to focus on anything when all she could do was replay what Ellison had told her. In the wake of the recent tragedy that was the death of her beloved High Priestess, she has been chosen as next in line. While a part of her was filled with pride that she alone had been chosen for such a daunting task, the majority of her feared that she just wasn't up to it. How could she lead the Sisterhood, rebuild it in such a dark time? How could she-

"Tyra." A soft voice pulled her from her thoughts, back into reality. She looked up just as Illidan plopped down on the ground at her side. He was starting to look much better, and judging by the brightness in his eyes and the gentle smile he offered her, he was feeling it as well. "I know what you're doing, and you need to stop."

Unable to fight off the slight blush that was creeping over her cheeks, she turned away so that her long hair fell to create a curtain between them. "I'm not doing anything," she retorted indignantly.

Illidan rolled his amber eyes, moving closer to her so that he could slip an arm over her shoulder and pull her in against his side. "I know you, Tyrande. I know you're getting yourself all worked up over this High Priestess business. But you were obviously chosen for a reason. Elune favors you; anyone can see that. You should embrace your fate."

A faint smile pulling at her lips, she angled her body in against her friend. "You think so?" She asked, her voice small and hesitant.

Illidan tilted his head to rest it atop her own. "Of course I do."

A silence fell over them, in which Illidan considered in his mind all of the things he so longed to say to her. For so many years he had put them off, had always found some excuse to hold back his feelings. But now, with all that had transpired, he was afraid the timing might never be right, and with each passing moment he could feel the opportunity slipping away. Soon she would be out of his reach forever.

Removing his hold on her, Illidan repositioned his body so that he could better look at her. She frowned slightly at the seriousness of his expression. Something was troubling him, that much was clear, but she just couldn't seem to figure out what. She opened her mouth with the intention of asking him, but didn't even manage to get his name out before she heard the sound of Malfurion's deep voice calling them over.

Pushing himself up, Illidan held out a hand to help Tyrande get to her feet. He kept their fingers laced together for a moment longer than necessary, letting go only when it became too hard for him to breathe. Together they made their way over to where the others were gathered. Illidan moved away from her and came to stand beside his brother, shoulder to shoulder. "What have we concluded?" He asked, his amber eyes flitting around the circle.

Ravencrest launched into an explanation of the strategies they had been discussing, various attack points and any notable weaknesses that the soldiers had reported. Every so often, Cenarius would interject something, and Illidan would simply nod along as he absorbed all of the things they said.

"We can send a small group in to try and regain some ground," Ravencrest said with a definitive nod. "Start pushing the demons back-"

"General!" A sudden voice caught his attention as a soldier came rushing up to his side. He was short of breath, chest rising and falling quickly, a frenzied look on his face. "General, demons spotted, coming right towards us!"

In mere seconds, the scene changed from somewhat relaxed to completely serious, bordering chaotic. Ravencrest was calling out to his men, giving commands and directions so quickly it was amazing that any of the others understood what he was saying.

Illidan turned to Malfurion, giving him a sharp look. "Let's go," he said, his tone holding a surprising amount of authority.

Malfurion hesitated for a moment, some reservation in his glowing eyes. "Illidan, are you sure you're feeling up to it-"

Illidan cut him off with a harsh sound that bordered on a growl. "I am not going to sit here uselessly while the rest of you go off to battle," he snapped. "I can handle myself, okay?"

The older of the two bowed his head slightly, his expression turning almost apologetic. "I trust you," he murmured. Lifting his chin once more, he nodded. "Let's go," he repeated.

"Not without me," a high-pitched voice interjected. The brothers looked back in nearly perfect sync to see Tyrande bounding up behind them. She offered a small smile, but the look in her eyes was fierce and deadly. "Let's end this."

…

The three elves worked so well together in combat, it was as though they had been doing it for years instead of mere hours. With Malfurion drawing most of the demons' attention, Illidan and Tyrande were able to focus on casting from a safer distance. With the rest of the resistance spread out, they were able to pick off the enemies slowly but surely, pushing them back through the tangled forest and towards the ruins of their home.

Illidan wasn't even sure how long they had been at it, only that he was being driven by the sheer feeling of power that filled him up. He was drawing on any resource he could, pulling any mana he could from the air around him and channeling that into each careful attack. Still it never felt like enough, and there was a silent fear in the back of his mind that he might not be able to keep up much longer.

There was something else, too, that Illidan had been trying to shut out. He could feel it in the air, thick and sickly, imposingly closing in around them. At first, he had been able to ignore it, but it kept getting heavier, until he was sure it was going to suffocate him. It was strangely familiar, and it took him a moment to place it. Then it hit him; this was the same sort of magic he had sensed in the air during the party at the palace. It was stronger than anything he had ever felt before, pressing down from all around him. But in spite of the fact that it felt as if it was trying to choke him to death, there was an underlying temptation, a want to draw it in and take that power for himself.

"Illidan! Behind you!" Tyrande's shrill voice broke through his thoughts. The elf spun around to see a massive demon lunging right towards him. He tried to jump out of the way, but he was a second too late. Just as its claws should have collided with his flesh, tearing open new wounds over his chest, the demon froze and let out a horrific scream of pain. Illidan watched as a blade suddenly protruded from the monster's chest, driven straight through his torso from behind. Not just any blade, but one he recognized instantly, and as the demon crumbled to the ground in a heap, Maiev was left standing behind it, in her full set of plate armor, gripping the umbra crescent tightly.

Once the initial shock of it all had worn off, Illidan managed to flash a small grin at her. "I owe you one," he said, a slight hint of playfulness in the words.

Maiev was thankful for the helm that she had received, because she was sure her entire face was aglow with a bright blush. "I'll remember that," she retorted.

A short moment of silence passed between them, in which Maiev was trying desperately to ignore the loud thudding in her chest that surely would have given her emotions away were he to hear it. The pain she had felt at him leaving, it seemed, had not been enough to change the way she felt about him. The incessant battles had offered a nice distraction for her, but now that Illidan was once again standing in front of her, she was just about ready to fall apart before him all over again.

The moment was shattered by the sound of Malfurion calling to them, and then they were forced to return their attention to the last of the demons. With all of them working together, fighting side by side, they were able to take them down with ease.

When the final demon had fallen, the elves were able to pause and catch their breath. Maiev pulled her helm off and shook out her messy pink hair, coming stand beside the others. She watched with a somewhat startled expression as Malfurion morphed back into his elf form. "I think it's over," she murmured, glancing at her allies.

"For now," Illidan interjected. "But this is far from over. We don't even know how many of them there are. We could be fighting for-"

"We should relish in this victory," Malfurion cut him off, seeing the way Maiev's face fell slightly at his brother's words. "It shows that we are capable of beating them, so long as we cooperate."

Illidan opened his mouth to say something more, but before any sound came out, the ground below them literally began to shake. The echoing sound of footsteps filled the air around them, getting louder with each passing second. The elves exchanged nervous glances, finally spinning around towards the source of the sound.

A row of massive, towering demons appeared across the horizon, nearly blotting out the setting sun and casting long shadows through the forest.

"Malfurion," Tyrande murmured, his name coming out dazed and breathily. "What do we do?"

For the first time since they had left the encampment, the oldest of the group allowed a trace of fear to flicker across his features.

"I think," Maiev spoke up, her hands trembling as she lifted her precious helm back up and slid it into place. "That our best option might be to run."

"I think I might be inclined to agree," Malfurion replied. As the words left his lips, one of the demons let out a vicious cry that seemed to make the trees around them quiver. It was all the motivation they needed to take off at a full speed in the opposite direction.

They made it a few yards at best when a sudden breeze picked up around them, causing the branches to sway and tugging at their hair and clothes. "What is that?" Tyrande shouted, her words nearly getting swallowed up in the cadence. They looked around frantically for any indication of what was going on, and just as Illidan glanced back over his shoulder towards the oncoming demons, a great wave of fire came spilling down from the sky and knocked their pursues back.

"Illidan!" Malfurion cried out; when he looked over, he saw his twin's glowing eyes fixated on the skies above them. Following his stare, he sucked in a gasp at what he saw. As another spray of flames poured over the demons, a shadow fell over the elves. Illidan watched with fascination as five enormous creatures unfurled their wings and laid waste to the demon armies behind them.

Tyrande's face was aglow with wonder as she watched them. "Are those…?"

Malfurion nodded, a smile breaking out over his face. "Dragons." They had all heard the legends, growing up, stories of beings with immeasurable magic that soared above the land on mighty wings. Could it be that these were the very same, and they had come to aid them in their time of need?

The companions stopped at a safe distance, turning to watch as the dragons brought down the last of the huge demons. With all of them destroyed, the largest of the dragons, covered in glittering red scales, came to land right before the elves. The four watched in astonishment as the dragon transitioned from its massive form, leaving behind only the small body of a human. Only the orange glow of her eyes and the twisting horns arising from her head gave her away.

Tyrande grinned, feeling a renewed sense of hope that she was afraid she had lost forever. Finally, it seemed, Elune had heard their pleas, and things might turn around in their favor. She was the first to speak, bowing her head slightly. "You have our eternal thanks," she murmured. "You saved our lives."

Pushing a strand of bright red hair out of her face, the dragon woman smiled at her. "Worry not, child," she said in a soft voice. "My name is Alexstrasza, Queen of the Dragons." As she spoke, the other dragons landed behind her, shifting into their own mortal forms. "We are the Aspects," Alexstrasza went on, gesturing to the four figures at her sides. "Now then, something tells me you need some help?"


	17. Chapter 17

_**seventeen**_

Later that night, much of the resistance was gathered around a small camp fire, enjoying their brief moment of victory and retelling the stories of how they had overcome the demon armies. Although they knew this war was far from over, it was nice to allow themselves even a few brief hours to rest, recuperate and revel in the feelings of hope that maybe there was a way for them to win after all.

Malfurion sat on the ground between his brother and Tyrande, smiling at the elves that had summoned what bravery they had and pulled together to overcome this nightmare. Leaning back on his hands, he felt Tyrande's fingers resting atop his own. He turned his head to give her a gentle look, his glowing eyes saying all that he could ever hope to say. Her own soft features returned the look, and he knew that she understood.

"Malfurion," one of the elves spoke up suddenly, drawing his attention. He was young, certainly too young to be exposed to the atrocities he had no doubt seen. It made the Druid's heart lurch with pain, a deep sorrow that was laced with anger. Perhaps the boy sensed that in him, because his brow twitched into a slight frown. He composed himself quickly. "Do you think...well, some of us were talking, and we thought that maybe you could...teach us. How to be like you."

Whatever confidence had driven him to ask in the first place was gone now, and the young elf was closing in on himself, unable to even hold Malfurion's gaze. But all the older elf could feel now was a surge of pride at the thought that he could inspire the others. He had been the first, hand chosen by Cenarius to venture off into the forest and learn to become one with all that was around him. It had taken him away for months, but he had returned stronger than he had ever imagined possible. And now to know that there were others who wished to share in his path brought him immense happiness.

"I am sure Cenarius and I can teach you some things," he replied, flashing a bright smile.

"They admire you," Tyrande's voice was silky soft and demanded all of his attention. She was leaning in towards him so that he might better hear her, so their words could stay between only them.

"I don't see how," Malfurion replied, his own words a deep rumble from within his chest. "I haven't done anything more than-"

"You returned with Cenarius _and _the Aspects," she cut him off. One brow was perfectly arched as she looked up at him through thick lashes. "You give them hope. Right now, that's about the only thing they have."

Malfurion smiled then, looking around the unlikely group once more. The elves were all talking amongst themselves, while Ravencrest and the Aspects were off to the side assessing the full situation ahead of them. And at his side were the two most important people in his life, and he was going to do everything in his power to make sure nothing bad ever happened to them.

"Illidan, there's still time for you to become a Druid too," he said playfully. But when he glanced over to where his twin had been sitting, no one was there.

...

He couldn't stand it. He had tried to enjoy the moment of celebration with all the others, but Illidan just couldn't stand the way they all seemed to idolize his brother, as if he had taken down every one of the demons alone. Even Tyrande, with her talk of him finding Cenarius and bringing the Aspects, as if he himself hadn't even been there, looking at him as if no one else in the world existed...

It simply wasn't fair. Illidan had done just as much as Malfurion, and yet his brother sat there taking all of the credit for everything, like some war-ravaged hero. Well, one battle hardly constituted as the entire war, and this was far from over. They would just have to see who came out a hero in the end.

The thought crossed his mind that it probably wasn't wise of him to be out wandering alone in the woods. Although he had been feeling better since their return, there was a lingering fear that the strange sickness might creep up on him once again, rendering him powerless. And with the demons so very close by, he shouldn't have been taking any chances. Still, he needed to clear his head away from all the others, and the shadows and solitude provided by the looming trees was the perfect escape.

At least, he thought it would be. But Illidan had barely made it a dozen yards away when he heard the incoherent mutterings of a very familiar voice. He whirled around to see Maiev sitting in the shade of a tree, leaning back against its trunk. Though she had not removed her armor, her helm and weapon were cast aside in a careless manner. Her pink hair was a mess around her face, and she was staring very intently at her hands in her lap. If she had noticed his approach, she gave no indication.

Illidan swallowed hard, feeling a sudden wave of tension wash over him, though he wasn't entirely sure why. Surely, he thought, she must have known that he was there by now, and yet she still refused to glance up or ever really acknowledge him. Finally he choked back his pride, or whatever else it was that was keeping him so perfectly still, he took a few slow steps towards her. "Hello."

Maiev jutted out her chin, looking around the small grove. After a painfully drawn out moment, she let her bright eyes fall upon Illidan. "Oh," she murmured, like she was completely surprised to see him standing there. He couldn't help but frown down at her; why was she acting so strange to him? "What are you doing here?"

Illidan started to scowl at her. After he had been gone for days on end, this was the greeting he received from her? He tried to recall any way in which he might have offended her, but none came to mind.

Maiev watched the flicker of emotions across his face while keeping her own perfectly blank. She had always been good at concealing her emotions, and as of late she had found that those skills came in handy more than ever before. Illidan looked upset, his eyes narrowing and the muscles in his broad shoulders tensing. She knew that she was being unnecessarily cold towards him, she was able to rationalize that it wasn't entirely fair, and yet she just couldn't make herself stop. She was carrying around all of this hurt in her heart, this pain left there by him when he had made it abundantly clear that it would never be her he wanted. And still she had to put all of her effort into staying where she was instead of throwing herself into his arms. Even when she knew he had no desire to hold her, she longed for his embrace. It was weak and pathetic, and with each passing second she hated herself more and more.

A few more seconds dragged past. A defeated sigh left her lips. Then, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound so cruel."

She swore that Illidan actually exhaled a breath of relief. He came over and took a seat on the grass so that he was facing her, legs crossed under him. "It's alright," he said. "This whole ordeal has been hard on everyone. It brings out our harsher sides, makes us colder."

Maiev nodded slowly, doing her best to appear as though she wasn't hanging on his every movement. Not for the first time, it crossed her mind that she was in way over her head. Not only with him, but with everything. She wasn't a fighter. Half the time, she didn't even feel like she was a priestess. She just...was. Existing with no direction or purpose.

"You look good," Illidan said suddenly, cutting off her own dark thoughts. Her head snapped up, a blush tinting her cheeks. She opened and closed her mouth without ever omitting a sound.

Illidan, realizing her confusion, smirked a little. "On the field, I mean. I watched you fighting the demons. I'm glad to see all of our lessons did not go to waste."

It wasn't exactly what she had been hoping for; he could see it in the way her shoulders slumped and her eyes travelled to the ground. Still, she murmured a soft thanks.

Illidan wasn't blind to the way she was leaning in towards him. He was no fool to what it was she wanted from him. He recalled the single kiss they had shared, the way she had thrown himself at him after he had asked her to come along to the party at the Eternal Palace. It felt like ages ago, like a whole lifetime had passed since that night.

He had turned away from her because of Tyrande. Because Maiev, for all her innocent allure and her quiet charm, would never be the girl that he had loved for longer than he could even remember. Because he knew that it wouldn't be fair to her, that if he would have allowed anything to come of that one, spontaneous kiss, he would have forever held her in comparison of Tyrande, and no matter how she might have tried, she never could have been enough.

A tremor of anger ran through him then. And just how had that worked out for him? Tyrande had made it abundantly clear that she didn't want him. At least, not so long as Malfurion was around. And he was left with nothing.

"Illidan?" Maiev called out to him then, his name low and questioning. His head snapped up and he found himself looking into her concerned and gentle face. He could hear the implications in her voice, the hidden question she didn't dare ask as to whether or not he was okay. But the elf couldn't bring himself to answer, and Maiev knew better than to push him, and so a moment later she flashed a bright grin at him and started to rise to her feet. "You need a distraction," she said. Her voice caught a little on the last word. "Come on, why don't we go and practice like we used to." The way she said it made it sound like centuries had passed since they had last trained with each other. Thinking on it, even to someone that was immortal, the last few days _had _felt like whole centuries.

Illidan pushed himself up and stood before her. "I haven't got any weapons on me," he pointed out. He hadn't been using a blade, only relying on his magical abilities alone.

Maiev, who had collected her helm and blade, and was already brushing past him in the direction of the camp, merely shrugged. "Ravencrest has some that he's managed to collect." He watched her walking away, watched the away of her hips and the way she kept her chin jutted out. When had she gained this new sense of confidence? She hardly even seemed to him the same girl that he had met that night in the clearing, so shy she could hardly stand to look at him.

Shaking his head, he realized he had really no choice but to follow her. The pair fell into step beside each other, and though no words were spoken between them, it didn't seem strained. Maiev chanced a look in his direction; she was almost disappointed that he wasn't looking back.

The supplies were stored near the back of the camp, away from the fire where most of the resistance was gathered. Illidan was able to sneak through the shadows, eyeing the choices of weapons laid out before him. There were swords of all sizes, and daggers and bows. There were a couple of shields. But one set in particular stood out to him. It was a pair unlike any he had seen before. With a grip to hold in the middle, there were massive, sharpened blades extending out in both directions. Illidan reached out and took them before returning to where Maiev waited.

"Those are demon weapons," she scoffed, unable to keep the hints of disgust out of her voice. "One of the soldiers brought them back so that none of the other monsters could claim them. Glaives, I think."

Illidan lifted one of the weapons to examine it once again. He shrugged off her comments and motioned back towards the woods. They finally found a sufficient area that gave them enough room to move around. Then, without any kind of warning, Maiev lifted the umbra crescent and came charging at him.

Illidan barely had time to react, let alone raise the weapons he was unfamiliar with and block her attack. He gave her a frantic and angry look. "What the-"

"The enemy doesn't ask if you're ready," Maiev retorted. She pulled away, their weapons scraping with a painful hiss.

Illidan gaped at her a moment longer, finally composing himself. He wasn't sure when she had become so self-assured and assertive, but he wasn't entirely displeased with the change. Giving the glaives a few swings, feeling the weight of them and how they moved in the air around him, he finally moved towards Maiev at full speed. She countered the attack with intensity, knocking his blade aside and dancing out of reach.

It was easy for them to fall into the familiar dance. They mirrored each other, and their blades seemed to offset each other perfectly. Illidan had to force himself not to try cast any spells, fearful of the outcome. Instead he concentrated his energy on the movement of his feet and the new feeling of wielding two weapons at once.

Maiev was relentless and never let up. For every swing he took she was there to parry, and she always seemed to come back twice as hard. Illidan was impressed by how advanced she had gotten in such a short time. Surely she had been training with some of the other soldiers, learning more than what he alone had been able to teach her. But he refused to back down, and the clearing echoed with the sounds of the metal colliding.

The elf girl quickly realized that she wouldn't be able to beat him with swordplay alone. She would need to get creative, think of something he would have no way to counter. Spinning towards him gracefully, she twisted the umbra crescent so that his glaive wound up trapped between the two curving blades. She mustered up every ounce of strength that she had and used it to knock his weapon from his hold. Once he was unarmed before her, she closed the distance between them and brought her lips up to meet his.

This was an attack of a completely different kind, one that Illidan was in one way prepared to meet. After a moment, he relaxed against her, casting aside his second weapon and slinging an arm around her plate-covered waist. Maiev made an eager sound of approval, parting her lips beneath his, allowing him to gain entrance to her mouth.

When they finally parted the kiss, his hands were tangled in her loose hair and she had left a series of fingerprints on the muscles of his back. She looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, a single glance that spoke volumes. Illidan understood, and he gave a slight nod, taking her by the hand and pulling her deeper into the woods.

Eventually the anticipation caught up to them, and Illidan stopped to push her roughly against a tree, his mouth devouring hers once more. His fingers, trembling only slightly with a nervousness to which he would never admit, began working at the bindings of her heavy armor. It fell to pieces around them, leaving her in only the simple clothes she wore underneath. There was a deep longing growing in the pit of his stomach, a heat flooding his veins. It felt strangely similar to the feeling he got when drawing on the mana in the air around him, but this time he was pulling heat and energy only from the girl in his arms.

Maiev allowed her own hands to roam his body, tracing the contours of his muscles and feeling the places where his bones resided below the violet skin. She brought a hand up to cup the side of his face, allowing a sigh of happiness to break free of her lungs. For so long, she had wanted this, had waited for this moment, had imagined how it might feel to finally give into the carnal need to be closer to him.

And it seemed that Illidan would comply. At least, judging by the way he was so eagerly tearing her free of the last of her clothes, he didn't seem to be trying to resist her much.

At last, he lay her down in the grass, hovering over her, drinking in every inch of her exposed body before him. Maiev looked up at him expectantly, perhaps a bit fearful that he might make one last attempt to pull away. But Illidan only smiled back at her, his fingertips trailing down her sides delicately, a gentleness she was almost surprised that he was capable of.

Maybe it was wrong of him. Maybe he would never really stop wanting Tyrande, never stop hoping that somehow things could be different and she would love him back. But for now, this would be enough for him. Because even unrequited love was better than no love at all. And even if he would never be able to return the feelings Maiev had for him, it was better than being alone.


	18. Chapter 18

_**eighteen**_

The forest was eerily still that morning. It was peaceful, Tyrande thought, and as she walked in between the trees with her fingers laced with Malfurion's it was almost easy to pretend none of the past few weeks had been real. Pretend it had all just been some terrible nightmare, and now she was awake, and everything was going to be fine.

The trees provided a perfect shield from the rest of the world. They moved deeper into the woods, further away from the encampment, until they were no longer able to see anything but branches and leaves and the occasional patch of blue sky through the gaps of the canopy.

"It's so beautiful here," Tyrande murmured. It had been her that suggested the two steal away for some time. She was tired of watching Suramar burning in the distance. She was tired of listening to the others plot attacks and battles and strategies. For a few short hours, she wanted nothing more than to walk alone with her oldest friend and pretend that everything was going to be fine.

Malfurion glanced down at her and mustered up a small smile. "Nature has a way of preserving," he replied simply. "Just as we are going to do."

Tyrande tried to think of some way to reply, but all the words she thought of only reflected her own doubts and fears, and so in order to preserve the one relaxing moment they had been able to get, she chose to say nothing. She focused instead on the feel of Malfurion's hand holding her own, and Ash'alah darting in and out of the brush around them. The kitten had grown substantially; soon she would be large enough to serve as a mount. The priestess smiled affectionately at the animal she had rescued and come to love.

While her attention was elsewhere, Malfurion turned all of his towards Tyrande. In so many ways, she seemed so very different from the girl with whom he had grown up. She was more closed off now, hardened by the sudden tragedies that had struck the heart of their people and their home. And yet, she was that same fierce, fearless person that had never been afraid to face anything. She was this incredible beacon of hope and strength, and Malfurion was more thankful to have her beside him than he even knew how to express. Together, they would rise above this and come out stronger.

All at once, Malfurion came to a stop, using his hold on her hand to halt her as well. Tyrande let out a small gasp, which quickly turned into a laugh as he spun her around to face him. Standing with mere inches between them, she tilted her chin up so that she could meet his gaze, lips parted and eyes glowing.

"Tyra," he breathed out her name softly. His hands had found their way to her hips, holding her in place before him. "I love you. You know that, right? We are going to be fine. I wont let anything happen to you, or to any of our people."

Though she would have never admitted it, Tyrande felt the sting of tears pricking the corners of her eyes. He had only ever told her that he loved her once before, when he had come to her in the temple, when they had spent the entire night tangled up in the sheets and in each other. At that time, Tyrande had been so scared and overwhelmed with her training and her fighting with Illidan and her own fears about not being good enough, and she hadn't been able to find the strength to repeat the words to him.

And now, with the world falling apart around them, and even more things to fear and stress over, with his fingers starting little fires of energy every place they came into contact with, she once again found her voice caught in her throat. How could she hand over her heart for an eternity when she wasn't even certain she would live to see another day?

She was well aware that Malfurion was waiting for her to say something, anything. The elf girl swallowed hard, her gaze flickering to the ground between them. This should have been easy. Being with Malfurion _was_ easy, and she knew that she loved him as obviously as she breathed. But actually speaking the words, vocalizing it, solidifying the bond, that was another story entirely. She just wished that she knew why.

All of a sudden, a high pitched scream echoed in the air around them. In an instant, Malfurion had dropped his hands, and the pair was facing the direction from which the sound had come. They exchanged a single glance before they took off running together, leaping over felled branches as they sought out the source of the screaming.

At last, the woods gave way to an open expanse of land. The scene before them was heartbreaking; Tyrande felt her pulse quicken and her lungs constrict. An entire village, lying in ruins. The houses were burnt to the ground, rubble and wreckage that no doubt concealed the broken bodies of fallen elves and demons alike.

"Malfurion," Tyrande said, lifting a shaking hand to point ahead. "Look."

In the center of the destroyed village, a small band of demons were rummaging through the wreckage. Tyrande curled her lips back in a scowl of disgust. "We have to stop them, before they find their way back to the camp-"

The words had barely left her lips when a second cry pierced the air around them. But this was not a scream of terror or pain. This was a battle cry, echoing in the open expanses, and a moment later a group of rebels came barreling out of the trees. At the head of the group was Ravencrest, standing proud, weapon drawn as he readied himself for the battle. Apparently, they had already received word of the demons.

"Let's go," Tyrande spoke at last, breaking through the silence that had befallen them. She had already started down the hill into the valley, moving fast towards yet another battle. Malfurion nodded his agreement and took off after her. Just as he caught up to her, he shifted forms, hitting the ground on all fours. In spite of everything, Tyrande couldn't help but smile and feel a small sense of pride as she watched him pounce into the throng of demons.

Yes, she thought, as she called on the powers of her goddess to bless and aid her in the fight. Yes, she loved him.

…

It was taking an unnecessary amount of effort to put one foot in front of the other. Maiev kept her head down, watching where she was going so as not to trip, but the ground kept blurring through the tears stinging the corners of her eyes.

As soon as the first rays of sunlight had broken through the thick covering of the trees, Maiev had awoken to find herself curled up in the dewy grass of the clearing. She was shivering slightly, stripped of her clothes, and vaguely aware of an arm slung over her chest, holding her in place. Maiev had held her breath as she wriggled free from Illidan's grasp, She had been careful when redressing and strapping on her heavy armor. And only when she was ready to go, her umbra crescent in one hand and her long haired helm in the other, had she dared to look back at him.

He was sound asleep, dark hair in messy strands around his peaceful face, muscles occasionally twitching as he dreamed. If Illidan had noticed her go at all, he gave no indication. And that was the moment she knew that any idea she had ever dared to entertain of them, any vision or hope for them to ever be together, had been all in her own head. Illidan cared not for her feelings; in fact, she had _known_ that from the start.

No more denying. No more lying to herself. Illidan didn't want her. Illidan didn't love her. And still she had given herself over to him, given him the precious gift of her intimacy. She had opened her heart to him, shared her body with him, and for what? For more heartbreak and pain as he continued to look right past her and pine after the one he truly desired?

No. She would not play this part anymore. She was through being the lovesick child that chased after someone that barely seemed to register her affections. What had happened between them had been a mistake.

And yet, even as she wiped a stray tear away from her cheek, she knew that it was a mistake she would have made again. Because in spite of everything, it had been worth it to feel Illidan's body against hers for just one night. To know his love for just one night. She would carry the memories of his fingertips upon her skin for the rest of her life. She would never forget how it had been to know him in the most personal, perfect way, for just one night.

Maiev wondered for a moment if she would regret leaving him there in the woods. What if their intimacy had changed his mind, made him realize that he had loved her all along? What if he came to her and pledged his heart to her? What if by leaving she had forsaken any chances they might ever have?

But she shook her head slowly to try and clear it of any such thoughts. That was the very same childish thinking that had gotten her into this situation in the first place. No, Illidan was not going to come to her. Not so long as Tyrande was in the picture. She was nothing more than a fallback, a second choice he had settled on as the real prize slumbered in his very own brother's arms.

She would always love Illidan Stormrage. But there were bigger things going on around them, and she had tired of this charade, this deranged love affair that only bred misery for everyone involved. Let Illidan and his brother and Tyrande sort their own issues out, Maiev thought with a trace of resentment. She refused to feed into it any longer.

It didn't take her long to reach the encampment. As soon as she strode into the throngs, she felt a rough hand shoot out to wrap around her wrist. "Maiev!" Jarod cried, shock and irritation lacing his voice. "Where have you been? I was worried sick-"

She lifted her head to meet his gaze, revealing the red and dampened eyes, the teardrops that still stained her flushed cheeks. Her brother instantly fell silent, his shoulders slumping as he moved to pull his little sister into his chest. She used to love his hugs, the comfort and warmth that they provided. Now that her body was contained in the plated armor, no warmth could reach her, and she just felt cold and alone.

Jarod, obviously, had no idea what had happened, but he knew better than to press his sister into opening up. If Maiev wished to share her innermost thoughts with him, she would do so in her own time. Still, he pulled back, a hand resting on either of her upper arms, and smiled at her. "Everything is going to be fine, Maiev," he said softly. "You'll see. This will all be over soon."

Maiev didn't bother trying to return the smile. She knew her brother was referring to the war that raged on around them, but she couldn't help but wish that he meant her own suffering and heartache. Somehow, she doubted that this would ever end. Feelings like this surely didn't just go away. It wasn't as if she could turn it off, stop caring, stop longing for him to want her. But it wasn't as if she could force Illidan to requite her emotions, either. She was stuck in an impossible situation, and so far as she could see, the only option was to simply push the feelings aside.

Moving away from Jarod's soothing touch, she lifted her helm and slid it into place, to make sure that no one else would be able to see she had been crying.

…

The last of the demons hit the ground with a definitive thud. With her chest heaving with each gasping breath, Tyrande scanned the remains of the destroyed village for Malfurion. She spotted him standing near Ravencrest, no doubt talking over the latest fight with the enemy. Stumbling a bit as she tried to regain her strength, drained from the overuse of so many spells in such a short time, she made her way over to the pair of men, falling into place beside them.

"One of our scouts brought word back to the camp of the demons," Ravencrest was explaining as he wiped the sickly green blood from his blade. "Pity we weren't able to get here sooner."

Malfurion was standing with his arms crossed tightly over his broad chest. "Were there any survivors?" He asked quietly, in a voice that gave away his fear of the answer.

Ravencrest let out a long sigh. "The village was already leveled by the time we arrived," he replied mournfully. "Most everyone had already been killed. There was only one that we were able to find." As he spoke, he stepped to the side and gestured behind him. Tyrande's glowing eyes fell upon a small-framed elf with pale lavender skin and purple hair so dark it was practically black. Her shoulders were hunched over, and she was speaking to one of the other soldiers, no doubt telling him what had happened in the village before their arrival.

Almost without realizing it, Tyrande took a step forward towards the girl. It was only Malfurion's hand on her wrist that held her back. "She's probably shaken up at the moment," he pointed out gently. "Why don't we get back to camp? You can talk to her then."

Tyrande made no motion, just stood there with her arm being held out behind her, and watched the young girl carefully. She looked so lost and hopeless and alone, and the priestess wanted little more than to tell her that she wasn't any of those things. But Malfurion was right, as usual. The girl probably just needed some time to calm down.

"Sure," she finally answered, tearing her attention away from the girl and returning her gaze to Malfurion. His hold on her wrist shifted so that they were once more holding hands, and to her surprise she found comfort in the touch, and so she gave a gentle squeeze.

The Druid nodded once at Ravencrest, but as he lifted his head and scanned the rebellion fighters that had come to stop the demons, his features rearranged into a frown. There was one face missing, one that should have been there. "Where is my brother?"

The general gave a slight chuckle and a knowing smirk. "He vanished into the forest some time last night with the Shadowsong girl," he answered with a casual shrug, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Perhaps it should have been. Now that he thought about it, Malfurion did recall Illidan getting up and leaving during their bonfire celebration. He just hadn't figured it would be anything like _that_. Still, he was happy for his twin, happy that he had managed to find someone and move on since the conversation they'd had while searching for Cenarius. He was happy that he no longer had to endure any pang of guilt when he was with Tyrande, knowing that Illidan had someone else now.

Tyrande, on the other hand, felt her stomach knotting and her chest constricting at the words she had just heard. Before all this had started and their world had begun to crumble in on itself, she had been so scared of losing her two closest friends, so scared that everything was going to be ruined between them. And now, she and Malfurion were at a crossroad from which there would be no return, and Illidan had found someone else to occupy his time. All of her fears had come true, it seemed. Nothing would ever be the same between them.

"Tyra, you alright?" Malfurion's tender voice reached her ears, his thumb moving to stroke the back of her hand in small circles.

Without a moment of hesitation, she flashed a smile at him. "Just tired," she said quickly, surprising herself with how easily the lie fell from her lips. "Let's get back to camp."

He nodded, pausing only long enough to lean down and place a careful kiss on her forehead. Tyrande swallowed hard and tried not to flinch away from the touch, tried to remind herself that this was exactly how it was supposed to be. She loved Malfurion, and he loved her, and apparently Illidan had removed himself from the equation, so the answers to all her doubt filled questions were now perfectly obvious to her. She had been trying to hold onto past memories that didn't exist anymore, trying to hold something together when it had already been broken beyond repair. The days of her childhood innocence were long gone, up in flames just like her home, and this was all she had left. Somehow, she had to be okay with that.

…

Tyrande tried to rest, but sleep was something that just wasn't coming to her. After what felt like days of tossing and turning inside her tent, she gave up altogether and rose to return to the others. She paused to smooth out the skirts of her robes, dirty and tattered beyond recognition, and run her fingers through her hair.

Outside, everyone was once again gathered around a small fire, the same routine she had grown accustom to. Talk of war, of what their options were, of what was going to happen after the last of the demons lay dead. Malfurion raised his hand in a slight wave, but was too deep into his conversation with Ravencrest and the Aspects to come over to her. Jarod was sitting off to the side with Maiev, who was still dressed in her full armor, helm and weapon never out of her reach.

And all alone in the back, just out of the glow of the fire's warmth, sat the girl they had saved from the demons. Her face was buried in her hands as she leaned over her knees, a cloak pulled around her tightly. Tyrande sucked in a quick breath and headed towards her. All she wanted to do was introduce herself to this poor child and let her know that she was not alone, that everyone she saw around her had lost something too, and they were all in this together.

She barely made it too steps before a familiar face appeared in front of her. Illidan stepped into her path, a frown adorning his features, arms crossed in an attempt to keep himself closed off. "Tyrande," he murmured softly. "Can I talk to you about something?"

The elf felt her hands ball up into small fists at her side. "Why don't you go and talk to Maiev?" She scoffed in a harsh tone. "I'm busy, Illidan."

The hurt on his face could have broken her heart, had she not already pushed past him without looking back. Illidan blinked slowly, watching her walk away, before muttering something to himself and retreating. Tyrande told herself that she didn't care anymore, but couldn't quite make herself believe it.

At last, she reached the girl, and was able to focus on her instead. From what light was able to reach, Tyrande could see that the girl was quite beautiful, if not for the deeply etched scowl she wore as she rested her chin upon her palm and stared out into the darkness. With slight trepidation, she took a seat beside her, keeping her hands folded in her lap. She studied her for a long moment, waiting for her to speak, or at the very least acknowledge Tyrande's presence.

When neither of these things happened, it was the priestess who spoke. "Hello. My name is Tyrande Whisperwind. I just wanted-"

"I don't care," the girl cut her off sharply. "Leave me alone."

Tyrande felt her heart swell, not with anger, but with a deep pain for the young elf. Ignoring the words, she pressed on. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright." When the girl gave her a deadly scowl, she let out a hiss of a sigh. "Can you at least tell me your name?"

The girl looked up at Tyrande through her lashes, her eyes wide with innocence. "Shandris," she answered softly. "Shandris Feathermoon."

Tyrande smiled warmly at her. After another long moment, she dared to slip an arm around the girl's shoulder, pulling her into her side. "Well, Shandris. You don't have to worry now, okay? You're safe now."

Shandris squeezed her eyes shut tightly, refusing to let herself cry in front of the people that had saved her. "Thank you," she whispered hoarsely, feeling a wave of hopefulness she had never thought she would feel again.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: I thought I would pop in and say how much I appreciate and adore every single person that has taken the time to read/review/follow this story. It is so incredibly encouraging to know that you guys are enjoying it. **

**I just wanted to say that I am aware that I broke the lore a bit here in this chapter, but for the sake of not going more insane than I already have over WoW lore, I decided that some things just...didn't need to be dealt with. Because this was honest to the gods the most frustrating chapter I have ever had to write in my life, and it literally took over two weeks just to force myself through it. So, I apologize that it isn't exactly up to par with my other chapters. I'll make it up to you soon, I swear. **

**Anyway, I'm done complaining now. Carry on xx **

_**nineteen**_

Time, it seemed, simultaneously managed to drag on and fly past all at once. Each day brought more of the same, more plotting and hiding and fighting for their very lives. Each time it seemed as though they were making some ground, the demons retaliated twice as hard, so no real progress was ever made.

The morale of the resistance was quickly thinning. Too many of their friends and families had been taken from them, falling to the reign of the demons. Too many moons had passed, and still they had nothing to show for all those deaths. They were no closer to pushing back the monsters or regaining ground than they had been at the beginning.

And yet, just as Malfurion had said, somehow the Kaldorei managed to persevere. Night after night, battle after battle, they found ways to hold it all together, found reasons to keep their heads held high. They stayed relentlessly strong, no matter how hopeless things might have seemed. Ravencrest fought valiantly and offered what reassurances he could, keeping the resistance unified, and holding onto the hope that someday they would rise above this and take back the life that had been stolen from them.

…

"Illidan, wake up."

A pair of hands were gripping onto Illidan's shoulders, holding too tightly, shaking him too roughly. HIs defenses flaring up instantly, the elf shot up into a sitting position, his dark hair a disheveled mess, falling into his face. His eyes, bloodshot and giving away his exhaustion, adjusted with ease to the dim light granted by the moon, and settled on the face of his twin.

He could tell right away that something was wrong by the distraught expression his brother wore. His thoughts strayed from bad to worse to unbearable, and at last he was able to stammer out a harsh, "What's happened?"

Malfurion pulled away, his own shimmering eyes flickering to the ground, the sky, anywhere but at Illidan. "It's Ravencrest," he finally answered. "He's been...well, one of Azshara's servants...they assassinated him."

A long moment of silence passed between them. Illidan was struggling to grasp the heavy reality of his brother's words. Ravencrest, who had taken him in and accepted him, had even encouraged his practice of the arcane. Who had given him a sense of purpose when he had none. Who had trained him, and then had rallied the elves together and guided them through the most difficult thing they had ever faced.

It just didn't seem possible.

Malfurion had risen to his feet, and so Illidan followed suit and did the same. When the older of the two began walking towards the rest of the camp, he knew that he really had no choice but to follow. A mixture of emotions were rising up in him, the hurt and the anger and the fear that if the Highborne could take down their fearless and strong leader, there really was no hope for the rest of them. In spite of all of that, the only thing he could think to say was, "Who will lead the rebellion now?"

Somehow, it seemed that Malfurion understood. Many people had fallen victim to this onslaught, and grieving simply wasn't an option. His tone was level when he replied. "The others are meeting now to try and determine what to do from here. But the news has hit everyone hard, and has put a massive hole in their faith of ever winning this war."

Illidan was not at all surprised by this. He himself had only just been thinking the very same. "They will probably pick you to lead," he muttered then. While the words should have been encouraging, they were spoken with such blatant bitterness that they came out closer to an insult.

Malfurion chose to ignore them, instead of rising to the bait, refusing to get into a fight with his twin after receiving such awful news. Besides, he wouldn't know the first thing about commanding soldiers.

…

Ever since her rescue from the temple, Ellison had been making herself useful by working alongside the other priestesses to heal the injured soldiers. It gave her a sense of purpose, made her feel like she helping the cause in the only way she really knew how. She used to worry about any bit of gossip she could get her hands on, and now she was worried about making sure soldiers made it to see the next battle. She wasn't brave like Tyrande. She wasn't a fighter. She had expected to spend the rest of her days in that temple, offering prayer to Elune so that their goddess might watch over and bless the elves.

While this whole ordeal had certainly caused some of the others to question their faith and trust in the moon goddess, wondering how a being that was meant to protect them would allow this to happen to her children, Ellison's own beliefs had never wavered.

But when they had brought Ravencrest's bleeding body before her, she had felt for the slightest second a tendril of doubt swirling around in her head. By the time they had found him, it was too late. There would be no healing him, no saving him.

She had been pacing back and forth for so long she had lost track of time. A few feet away, Tyrande sat cross-legged on the ground next to Shandris. It seemed as though she had permanently taken the younger elf under her wing, and hardly ever let her out of her sight. Shandris was running her fingers absently over Ash'alah's fur, and although she was now far too large for it, the cat was still trying to clamber into her lap.

"You are blaming yourself," the navy haired woman spoke, drawing Ellison's attention. For the first time since she had gotten the news, she stopped her movements and turned to look at her friend. At her new High Priestess. In all of the chaos around them, it was hard to even comprehend the fact that when all of this was over and done, it was Tyrande that would lead the Sisterhood of Elune. She got the feeling that Tyrande herself hadn't fully come to grasp that, either. "Stop it, Ellison. There was nothing to be done. I myself could not have healed him from the wounds."

Ellison sucked in a greedy breath, felt the oxygen fill her lungs, and released it slowly through parted lips. She did this a few more times in the hopes that she would calm down, but it seemed to have little effect. "I know," she replied. "But what are we going to do now? We are no closer to stopping Azshara or the demons, and now the one man that seemed to be in control of everything is gone-"

"We still have Cenarius," Tyrande pointed out. "And Malfurion. And the Aspects have promised to help us." In a fluid motion, she pushed herself up to her feet and moved closer to place a hand on her friend's shoulder. "And above all, we still have Elune to watch over us. Have faith, Ellison." She paused for a moment, recalling her conversation with Malfurion in the woods not so very long ago. "We will persevere."

Ellison did her best to muster up a smile. She glanced around at the other members of the resistance gathered around the fire, all in varying levels of suffering or fear. Across the way, she saw Maiev leaning into her brother's side, her face set in a somber expression. She seemed so completely different from the quiet girl that Ellison recalled from their lessons. Braver, more confident in herself, but also trying desperately to conceal some unspoken pain behind her eyes.

A moment later, Malfurion and Illidan strode into the open clearing. The Druid immediately made his way to Tyrande and slid an arm around her waist, flashing a small, mournful smile. Illidan remained behind the pair, his own arms crossed tightly over his broad chest.

Almost in a single, synchronized motion, all eyes turned to face Malfurion. He glanced down at the ground for a moment, before lifting his chin and clearing his throat. "As we all know by now," he began slowly, almost uncertainly, "General Ravencrest was assassinated today by servants of our former queen." He paused for a minute to allow everyone time for their murmurs and whispers to ripple through the crowd.

"However," he went on. "That does not mean that all hope is abandoned. We have suffered a great loss today. Ravencrest was both an impressive soldier and an impressive man. He cared deeply for the well-being and safety of our people. He never lost faith that we would win this war." As he spoke, his voice gained confidence, carried through the air so that each elf was able to hear him clearly. With his eyes glowing brightly in the dark, he straightened up to his full height and scanned the people before him. "We owe it to him to honor that belief. We owe it to his memory to keep fighting, to stay strong, and to regain what belongs to us. We will stop Azshara from annihilating any more of our loved ones. We will unite, stand strong, and refuse to be defeated no matter what. With the blessings of Elune to guide us in all that we do, we _will_ win this war."

Finished with his speech, Malfurion let out a great sigh of relief. The second it fell from his lips, a cheer erupted from somewhere in the crowds, and soon every one of the night elves gathered before him were applauding him. Tyrande let out a happy laugh, forgetting herself for a moment, and rose onto her tiptoes to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. "It seems that you were born to lead," she murmured quietly to him.

He turned to her, his arms encircling her slender waist, a loose strand of his emerald hair falling into his face as he gazed down at her. "We both were, my love."

Ellison watched the endearing scene before her with a smile that only wavered when she saw the way Illidan scowled at his brother and turned his back on them. She cocked her head just slightly, but before she could question it, their happy moment was shattered. The fire flickered as a sudden, unnatural breeze picked up around them. Almost before anyone could register what was happening, the gigantic red dragon that was Alexstrasza had landed on the far end of the clearing.

In a flash of movement and a slight glow, a woman appeared where the dragon had just been. Her expression was frantic as she came rushing over towards Malfurion and Tyrande. The priestess took one look at her and quickly gave a worried look of her own. "Life-bender," she addressed the aspect by her respected title. "What is it?"

Alexstrasza bowed her head quickly as her only form of greeting. When she lifted it again, the two women locked in a serious stare. "Demons," she said, as if that single word summed it all up. In a way, Tyrande supposed that it did. "A massive party of them. Coming right this way." Tyrande heard Malfurion suck in a breath beside her, his eyes flickering around the small camp, at what remained of their allies. The Dragon Queen took notice of this and quickly added, "I have already summoned the flights. We will aid you as best we can."

The High Priestess offered a quick smile of appreciation, but it faded fast. Her gaze flickered instead from Malfurion to Illidan. "What is our course of action?"

Malfurion opened his mouth but quickly snapped it shut again. He may have been able to evoke excitement and renew a sense of hope in the others, but he didn't know the first thing about organizing any sort of battle. He looked around at the others, the faces of his people all turned up and watching him, waiting for some sort of guidance.

Across from the fire, Maiev laced her fingers with Jarod's and gave it a small squeeze. "You should say something," she whispered softly.

Jarod let out a huff of a breath. "Absolutely not. I'm not nearly experienced enough to command anyone. There are others, more-"

"You were close to Lord Ravencrest," she interjected. "You saw him plan battles- you helped him! You can do this, Jarod."

Her brother looked down at her, brows raised, and Maiev only smiled in return. They stayed like that for a few long moments, waiting to see who would break first. And just as every time, it was Jarod who turned his gaze away. "Fine," he grumbled. He took a few steps away from his sister, around the fire, towards the others. "Malfurion," he called out. The emerald-haired Druid lifted his head and locked eyes with the other elf. "I have an idea."

…

Shandris reached out and grabbed Tyrande roughly by the wrist. "I can help!" She pleaded desperately. She had a bow in one hand and a quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder. "Please, Tyrande! I've been practicing!"

The priestess pulled her hand free of the tight grip. "No," she said, for what must have been the hundredth time. Ever since she had found her, she had felt incredibly protective of the young girl. She wasn't about to let her run headlong into battle. Pushing her navy hair back away from her face, she snatched the bow right out of Shandris' hands. "Give me the quiver, please."

Shandris narrowed her eyes for a moment, but slid the strap off her shoulder and shoved it into Tyrande's arms. "It's not fair," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. "I lost my whole family to the demons. I just want to help put an end to this."

Tyrande positioned the quiver over her shoulder, smoothed out her skirts and let out a sigh. "You'll be no help to anyone if you get yourself killed as well," she reasoned. She raised a hand to rest it on Shandris' arm. "Please, stay here. I don't want anything to happen to you."

A moment later, Malfurion appeared beside her, flanked by Illidan and Jarod. Tyrande noted the way Shandris eyed the newly named general, her glowing eyes travelling over his body, but decided now was just not the time to comment on it. "Time to go," he said, nodding once at her. Tyrande moved away from Shandris and instead went to stand with the men. She tried to catch Illidan's eye, but he was staring intently at the ground. It felt like it had been weeks since she had even spoken to him, and promised herself that as soon as this fight was over, she would reconcile that. She didn't even realize how much she had missed him until she saw him there, scowling angrily and trying to avoid her gaze.

The group left, and Shandris watched them disappear into the woods, the most unlikely group of companions she had ever seen. She waited until they had completely vanished, and then quickly turned on her heel. She was sure she could find a second bow lying around somewhere.

…

The battle waged on endlessly around them. Bodies fell from each side, filling the air with the putrid smell of death. Fel green blood splattered against Tyrande's dress as she leapt aside to avoid being run through with a blade. Above them, the dragons circled, and beams of unnatural light occasionally shot down, targeting the demons. In truth, the elf wasn't quite sure what was happening, but she was a little too preoccupied trying to stay alive to try and figure it out. She nocked another arrow, pulled back her bowstring and let it fly. She smiled in satisfaction as another demon stumbled and hit the ground.

Everything was moving so fast around her, and she was scarcely able to keep up. She tried in vain to spot Malfurion or Illidan, but both brothers were lost to the chaos. At least, it seemed that they were, but a moment later she saw Illidan standing a few yards away, wielding a set of double sided blades. He glanced up and caught her eye, but when she tried to smile at him, he didn't return the expression.

Instead, a look that was strangely similar to fear took over his features. She wasn't sure why, until she noticed that a great shadow had fallen over her. With a surge of panic, she looked up to see a blue dragon spiraling down towards the ground. She was frozen motionless, trapped and helpless as the massive beast plummeted towards her at an alarming rate.

Just when Tyrande was sure the dragon was going to crush her, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her and knocked her down the ground, out of the way. A grunt of pain arose from her lungs as she collided, squeezing her eyes shut. Only when she was able to catch her breath did she open her eyes. Illidan's amber gaze bore back into her own, mere centimeters between their lips. "Nice catch," she said, a few sputtered coughs escaping with the words. "Thank you."

Illidan said nothing, just rolled off of her and then pulled her to her feet. She opened her mouth to say something, anything at all, though she had no idea what. But she quickly snapped it shut when she saw another of the blue dragon crash from the sky on the other side of the clearing. And then another, and another, and soon a deafening roar shook the very ground upon which they stood.

Alexstrasza's voice rang out loud above all else. "Neltharion, what are you doing?!" She cried, frantic and panicked. Whatever answer he gave, the elves below didn't get to hear if. Another demon, one of the few that had not already met its demise, was charging them down. Illidan shoved Tyrande aside with ease and laid waste to the monster. Just as it's dead body toppled over, Tyrande looked up to see the black dragon aspect flying away, fading into the distance until he was merely a dark spot against an otherwise blue sky.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: This is my favorite chapter. That's all I've got to say about that. **

_**twenty**_

By the time the shattered group of elves returned to their camp, fear had turned to confusion, pain and anger. Illidan pulled Tyrande into the clearing by the hand, skidding to a halt next to his brother and the others.

In the center of the group, Alexstrasza was holding her face in her hands, great horns weighing her head down as she tried in vain to stifle her sobbing. Her sister Ysera was at her side, hands on her arm or brushing back her long red locks of hair.

Malfurion exchanged a long look with Jarod before finally breaking the silence. "What happened?" He asked. Somehow he managed to keep his voice gentle, but his glowing eyes revealed the sorrow he was working to conceal. Though they had beaten back the demons, too many of their own had died. And each time he closed his eyes, he could still envision the great forms of the blue dragons crashing to the earth below, lying dead among the wreckage.

A moment of silence passed before Alexstrasza lifted her head to meet the Druid's gaze. "I...I do not know," she answered truthfully. Her blazing stare moved between the other Aspects, almost hesitantly. They lingered particularly long upon the blue Aspect, Malygos, who was visibly working hard to keep his own features composed. "We had all agreed to Neltharion's plans to combine our powers into an artifact he called the Dragon Soul. We thought perhaps it could be harnessed against the demons."

Her voice trailed off as she tried, and failed, to contain another heaving sob, the pain she had to endure from so many needless deaths becoming almost unbearable. Tyrande bit down on her bottom lip, painfully hard, and found herself reaching out to take Malfurion's hand in her own. Turning her head, she whispered lowly to him, "Maybe we should give them some privacy."

Nodding his agreement, Malfurion turned away with a bow of respect. No words were spoken, for none needed to be said. Whatever the dragons were experiencing, it was clearly something among themselves, and he would leave them to comfort each other and deal with the devastating blow in whatever way they saw fit. He led Tyrande away, with Illidan trailing after them.

Honestly, Illidan couldn't remember the last time the three of them had been alone. Before they had found Cenarius, he thought, because since then their lives had been an endless whirlwind of war and death and misery. The trio stood facing each other, a heavy silence settling in around them. None of them spoke, none of them moved, until the silence became too much and the night elf lifted his gaze to meet that of his twin.

"So, now what?" He asked roughly, his tone edgy and laced with frustration. The help of the dragons has been their best hope, their last hope of stopping Azshara and the demons from bringing the entire world down around them. He got the feeling that was all sort of ruined now, considering nearly an entire flight had been wiped out, and the others were inconsolable.

Malfurion let out a lengthy sigh, his shoulders slumped. He turned to look out at the distance. Not so far away, concealed by the towering trees, rested the Eternal Palace. The source of all the madness. And beyond that, the Well of Eternity, heavily guarded by demons as Azshara and the Highborne worked to bring the single most evil entity right into their home.

He turned back toward the others, his glowing eyes flickering between the two of them, the two people who meant the most to him in all the world. And then, very calmly, very evenly, he said, "We have to destroy the Well."

A single second passed between them, and all Tyrande could think was that all of her fears had come true. She had been so afraid that this would happen, that everything between the old friends would fall apart. And now, whether any of them would admit it or not, it had happened. She could feel it, the distance growing between them all because life had forced them into impossible situations, and somewhere along the way they had lost whatever it was that had held them together. She could see it in the way Illidan was staring at his brother, mouth gaping, eyes widened with sheer offense at the words Malfurion had just uttered.

The second passed, the silence shattering with the deep snarl of the words that tore free from Illidan's throat. "You can't be serious, Malfurion. We can't just-"

"What choices do we have, Illidan?" The Druid snapped, cutting him off. "Azshara is using the Well to summon the demons. We can't keep fighting them, not with so many dead already. We have to cut them off at the source."

Illidan closed his mouth, evidentially at a loss for what more to say. It was clear that his brother had made up his mind, and he was just too exhausted to argue with him. Shaking his head a little, he turned away without another word and started into the woods, away from the others.

Malfurion let out a frustrated sigh as he watched the younger twin storming off. He tried to call out after him, but if Illidan heard at all he gave no indication. He threw a helpless look at Tyrande, who was still staring intently at the place where Illidan had just been, her breaths slow and measured, trying to keep herself calm. "What am I supposed to do?" He asked of her, slumping his shoulders.

After a moment, she looked up at him, lifting a hand to rest upon his shoulder. "Let me talk to him," she said. "Perhaps I can get him to calm down."

Malfurion hesitated, though he knew that Tyrande would do as she please regardless of what he said. So he did all he could do, which was nod and lean in to steal a quick kiss from her, and pretend not to notice how quickly she darted away from him, following Illidan off into the trees.

…

Unbelievable.

That was about all Illidan could think as he wound his way through the forests, somehow both intimately familiar and dangerously foreign to him. He lifted branches out of his way and stepped over vines without even really noticing them. He was far too lost in his own thoughts, his own anger and bitter resentment bubbling up in his veins.

How could Malfurion even think to suggest such a thing? Maybe for him, the Well was nothing, just a meaningless pool of water that had caused far too much trouble for its value to ever be worth it. But to Illidan, that same pool meant everything. His home had been destroyed, the girl he loved had chosen to place her affections elsewhere, and now even Maiev was avoiding him. His magic was all he had left, and he would be damned before he would let anyone or anything take that from him too. Least of all Malfurion, who already had so much, who was already revered and respected and adored.

Unbelievable.

His hands clenched into fists and he felt that familiar, almost welcoming spark of arcane energy stirring inside of him, waking up to fill him with flames. He pressed on in silence, the comforting solitude of the woods around him offering a shield as it had done so many other times his temper had gotten the better of him. He wasn't sure how long he walked alone, until the sound of his name flitted on the breeze to reach his ears.

Looking over his shoulder with a scowl adorning his features, he spotted Tyrande a few paces behind him. Her robes, tattered and worn from the battle, had been hoisted up so that she might avoid tripping as she moved swiftly in attempt to gain on him. For a moment, he honestly contemplated turning away from her and taking off again, but they both knew he could never really do that. Letting out a deep breath instead, he started to walk back in her direction.

When at last they stood face to face, she narrowed her eyes up at him. She was tired of running after him and calming his incessant mood swings. She was tired in general, and she didn't understand why Illidan insisted on starting fights amongst themselves when they had a bigger foe to face down. "Why did you take off like that?" She asked brusquely, her fingers still entangled in the stained folds of her once-pristine gown.

Illidan's mouth hung open slightly as he held her gaze with the same level of ferocity. "You honestly have to ask?" He replied sharply. "You really don't see why this whole thing has upset me?"

He didn't know why, but he wasn't expecting her reply to be so instant. "No, I don't!" She cried, raising her hands up in a defeated gesture. "I don't see how you can be so selfish at a time like this. Stop thinking about your own egocentric motives for a few seconds and start to consider that, if we don't destroy the Well and stop the Highborne from summoning this...this legion, then it wont matter anyway, because we'll all be dead! And then what good will your magic do you?" Tyrande's chest rose and fell frantically as she sucked in quick breaths between her words, her expression defiant.

Illidan actually let out a short, harsh laugh as he rose to the bait of her outburst. "Oh, I'm selfish?" He scoffed. "Right, of course. In case you have forgotten, I was invited into their world. I was at that party, when Azshara unleashed the demons. I was offered access to the Well and protection from this invasion. But I forsake all of that, because of you and Malfurion. And don't stand there and say I'm the selfish one when Malfurion _knew_ that I loved you, and yet he insists on flaunting the fact that he has you every chance he gets-"

"What did you just say?" Tyrande interrupted. Her tone had softened, her eyes going wide and her heart thudding rapidly in her chest.

Illidan, too, realized his slip and swallowed hard. He pushed his fingers anxiously through the loose and messy strands of his thick black hair. He had just assumed that after so very long, she had figured it out by now. Sure, Illidan had tried to hide it, but he'd never been very good at concealing emotions, and even less where Tyrande was concerned. It had always added to the feeling of betrayal, the assumption that all along she had been aware of his affections, and had knowingly kicked him aside. But judging by the look on her face, she hadn't suspected it at all.

Either way, there was no going back now, when he had already said too much.

"Illidan," Tyrande urged gently, and before he realized it, her hand had come to rest against his chest, cool and calming, fingers moving idly in little circles.

And the only thought on his mind, as he eased an arm around her waist, as he pulled her body against his own and cupped her chin in his hand, was that maybe he _wanted_ to be selfish.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice painfully low, a last desperate plea before he closed the final distance between them and kissed her. Tyrande tensed in his arms for a moment, but soon relaxed into him and allowed herself to kiss him back. Slowly at first, but then growing with passion, with raw need, their lips worked against each other's, his tongue slipping into her mouth to demand dominance, his hands fisting into the cloth of her robes. Tyrande had moved her own hand up to tangle into his hair, the other remaining on his chest. As he brought his teeth down gently onto her bottom lip, a soft moan arose from her lungs, and he breathed it in like it was the first breath he had ever taken.

It was over far too soon. Tyrande was the one to end it, turning her head with a slight gasp and suddenly shoving out of his hold. Illidan's brows pulled together in a frown, his stomach twisting into a tight knot. Her name started to form on his lips, but before he could get it out, she was shaking her head roughly, long navy locks dancing wildly around her face.

"I cant," she said, taking a step away from him. Her voice had never sounded so distant and final. The look on his face broke her heart, but she stood her ground all the same. In that moment it all became so perfectly clear to her. The reason for the distance and the discord, the reason for the tension any time they were together. It was because they both loved her, and because the pressure had been on her all along to choose one. All she had tried to do was hold them all together, and yet it was her that was driving them apart. The realization hit her like an arrow straight through her chest.

But, she had already decided, hadn't she? Without even realizing it, she had decided. That night she had allowed Malfurion to take her hand and pull her to the bed, to undress her and hold her in the pale, blessing light of the moon, she had chosen her path.

"Illidan, I can't do this to Malfurion," she tried again, when at last she was able to speak. Her voice shook uncontrollably with the words and hot tears stung the corners of her eyes.

Now it was Illidan who was shaking his head. With each word that left her lips, his world was crashing down around him, burning up in flames, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He took a staggering step away from her, almost losing his balance as he did. He had never felt anything so painful in all his life, like she had literally cut open his chest and torn out his heart, and was dangling it in front of him with all of her morals and promises and obligations.

Tyrande could see the inner war flashing across his face. She tried to move closer to him once again, her hand outstretched towards him, but he kept backing up to maintain his distance. "Illidan," she said for the third time. "You know that I lo-"

"Don't you dare," he growled, his eyes blazing brightly, lip curled back in a scowl, flames dancing at his fingertips. He dug his nails into his palms to fight them off. "Don't you _dare_ say you love me, and then go back to him."

Tyrande flinched at the brutality in his voice. The tears she had been trying to fight off finally won, spilling forth from her eyes and rolling over her cheeks in glistening drops. "I- I'm sorry," she said in a hoarse whisper. Without another word, she pushed past him and took off running, each step reverberating through her frame, forcing herself not to look back.

Illidan remained frozen in place for some time, watching her until she finally faded from view. With each second, he felt his heart shattering more, until he was sure all that remained were irreparable pieces. Then, the pain began to fade to anger, to a building rage at the sting of this new betrayal. A feral growl ripped free from his lungs, his nails pressing so deeply into his palms that they drew blood.

He would not go back to them. _Could_ not. How could he face her again, feel that burning shame and rejection each and every time he was in her presence? How could he ever look at Malfurion again, knowing that his brother would forever hold the one person he had dared to love more than life itself? No, he would not subject himself to that.

And if he hadn't be sure before, he was certain now that he could not allow them to destroy the Well of Eternity. Not when it was all he had left, his source of power. There had to be another way to end this war. Maybe Illidan didn't know what that was, but he was going to figure it out, and he was going to have to do it on his own.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: I want to apologize a thousand times over for the delay. Being the idiot that I am, I volunteered to work like a thousand and one hours of overtime in the past week, and as such I've been too burnt out to write anything coherent. But on the plus side, this chapter is ridiculously long, and it was surprisingly fun to mess around with. **

**Let the record state that we are starting to reach the point where I am abandoning all hope of lore, and I just hope you are all okay with that. Send me love. I am in the final stretch here, and could use the extra push for a big finish.**

**UPDATE: Just noticed the duplicated scene, and amended it. Whoops...that's awk...**

_**twenty one**_

The Eternal Palace loomed against the sky, the very walls seeming to glow in the light of the moon. It was still just as impressive and stunningly beautiful as the first time he had seen it, and still just as imposing. Illidan stood before the gates, doing his best to gather his composure.

He wasn't even entirely sure what he was doing here. All he knew was that he had spent the entire night wandering aimlessly, trying to figure out what he alone could possibly do to bring an end to this catastrophe. Maybe it was just sleep deprivation, or maybe he had honestly started a slow descent into insanity. Malfurion had suggested they go straight to the source, and that was what Illidan intended on doing. Going straight to the source, and finding a way to bring the Highborne down from the inside out.

He just hoped he could figure it out before the entire world went up in flames.

At last, he squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and strode up to the gates. A pair of Highborne guards in full armor, brandishing dangerous looking weapons and scowling as he approached flanked the entrance.

"Halt!" One of them cried out, lifting his weapon menacingly and taking a step toward Illidan. "I should run you through for daring to approach the palace. What business have you here, rebel?"

Illidan held his hands up quickly, hoping the gesture might convey some offering of peace. He didn't bother to ask how they knew that he was- _had been_\- with the rebellion. At this point, he could only guess that it was because whatever night elves hadn't been annihilated were assumed to be against them. "I have turned my back on the rebellion," he said slowly. The words felt like a sharp twisting in the pit of his stomach, validating and solidifying his act of betrayal to his people.

The guards exchanged a short glance, before the one that had spoken let out a loud laugh. "You really expect us to believe that?"

Illidan had every intention of saying that yes, in fact he did, but before he got the chance, the great doors swung inward to reveal a slender Highborne woman wearing a nearly nonexistent gown and an unnaturally predatory smile. "Illidan Stormrage," she purred in a velvety voice.

The dark haired elf swallowed hard, forcing himself to bow his head to her. "Lady Vashj."

Upon hearing her name roll off his tongue, her grin only widened. "I knew you would return to us sooner or later." Her gleaming eyes flickered between the two guards. Without a single word, both men lowered their weapons, standing down. When her gaze finally found its way back to him, she beckoned him towards the palace. "Finally forsaken your hopeless attempts at stopping us, have you?" She asked then. Illidan was surprised at how easy it was to nod in response. Vashj seemed pleased by this, and stepped to the side a little so that he could come to stand beside her. The Highborne's gaze traveled over his body pointedly before locking with his own. "Good. It's about time you got on the right side of this war."

…

Illidan swore that with each step further into the palace, his heart was closer to beating out of his chest. Vashj was leading him along, rambling on about something, though he honestly hadn't the slightest idea what she was saying. His eyes flitted around warily, memorizing everything around them. Every face they passed, demons that marched in perfect sync and eyed them cautiously or elves that murmured respects to the woman walking alongside him, Illidan forced into his memory.

They emerged into a corridor that seemed vaguely familiar. His mind flashed back to the last time he had been here, the only time, with Ravencrest. When he had met Vashj, and stood outside the very same doors that were before him now. The doors that led to Queen Azshara's private chambers. Each breath he took seemed hitched in his throat. He wasn't supposed to be here. He wasn't supposed to be standing outside the bedroom door of the enemy, the person responsible for ushering death itself to their doorstep. He wasn't supposed to be selling out his friends, his family, the people he loved.

But there was no time for any second thoughts now. Vashj took a step forward, her slender fingers raised to knock on the ornately carved door. A single second passed before a high-pitched voice called out for them to enter. Vashj pushed open the door with confidence, assurance that she belonged there. Illidan took a length breath, steeling himself, trying to muster that same air of poise.

"Your Majesty," Vashj spoke as she stepped into the chamber. Illidan remained where he was, frozen in place and wracked with nerves, until the Highborne threw him a quick glance over her shoulder, and he took it as the demand for him to follow. "This is Illidan Stormrage. He has turned his back on the last remnants of the Kaldorei, and humbly asks for you to welcome him into our ranks."

The room was dimly lit. Illidan's amber eyes scanned the shadows until they fell at last upon a tall, slender form. She was standing in the corner, her back turned to them, elegant fingertips drumming an inconsistent pattern out on the windowsill. She almost seemed to give off a glow all of her own. "Illidan," she repeated slowly, drawing his name out into an unnecessary number of syllables.

The night elf stole a glance at Vashj, hoping she might give some indication of what he was supposed to do, but her features were perfectly composed. Clearly, he was on his own. But then, he had known that in the first place, when he had stormed off into the woods, and when he had made up his mind to come here and turn his back on everyone that had ever meant anything to him. He was all alone.

Azshara clearly didn't have the time to wait for any sort of response from him. He realized that her incessant drumming had stopped, but her stare never faltered from the massive windowpane. "Come here," she said then. Illidan had no choice but to obey. He closed the distance between them, stopping less than a pace away, and for the first time she faced him. She was undeniably beautiful, and judging by the upturned corners of her lips, she was well aware of the fact. Illidan cleared his throat and, remembering himself, bowed his head before the woman who would be his new master.

The queen returned to looking out her window, leaning in slightly, almost longingly. "What is it that you see out there?"

Illidan frowned a little, but ultimately followed her gaze. Outside, he could see the Well of Eternity in all its splendor, its translucent surface sparkling, swirling. Armored demons were patrolling the edge and groups of Highborne were perched at each corner.

Azshara's features shifted to something else, something almost like adoration. "I see the future," she murmured softly. "They have already started the summoning. It is only a matter of time now until the portal is stable enough for our new lord to come through."

All of the air had left his lungs, but somehow he forced himself to take a great gulping breath. If the Highborne were ever going to accept him, to trust him enough so that he could find a way to stop them, then he would need to play along.

In a fluid, graceful motion, Azshara spun around to face him with narrowed eyes. Illidan stumbled back a step, entirely caught off guard by the sudden change in her emotions. From the corner of his eye, he could see Vashj visibly tense up. "Why should we trust you?" She demanded. Somehow, without ever raising her voice, she still managed to be one of the most intimidating forces he had ever encountered.

And yet, Illidan didn't miss a beat. "I will tell you everything the resistance is planning to do."

…

Shandris emerged from the forest into the clearing, bow in hand, and made her way to where Tyrande sat. Ash'alah was napping soundly in her lap. As soon as the younger elf appeared before her, her head shot up. "Any sign of him?"

Shandris shook her head, sighing sadly. "I am sorry, Tyrande. I didn't find a single sign of Illidan anywhere."

Tyrande sighed too, rubbing her fingers over the saber's fur idly. The cat had grown substantially since she had found her injured in the woods; that day seemed now to belong to a different place, a different time. She remembered how happy she had been, walking alongside Malfurion with little to no cares in the world.

Now, she could still feel the lingering burn of Illidan's kiss on her lips. She could still see the look on his face, the look of utter heartbreak as he backed away from her. She shouldn't have kissed him back. Not when she was only going to turn him away. Now, he was missing, and it was all her fault.

Things could never be simple again.

Sliding Ash'alah off her lap without seeming to disturb the cat at all, Tyrande rose to her feet. At her full height, she had to look down at Shandris, doing her best to muster something she hoped looked like a smile. "Thank you," she muttered. "Go ahead and get some rest. I'm going to find Malfurion."

Without another word, she set off in search of the Druid. When she had come to him with the news of Illidan's departure, an _amended_ version of the story, he had taken it pretty hard. He had gone into the forest to clear his head, and she hadn't seen him since. She couldn't help but see the irony in the fact that it was exactly the way his brother always calmed down. In so many ways, they were so alike. And for all her life, she had loved them both equally. But kissing Illidan had made her realize where her heart belonged, confirmed for her that, whether she had even known it or not, she had chosen Malfurion. There was just no going back from that decision now.

She finally found him leaning against a tree, his eyes closed. She hesitated before approaching, unsure if she should interrupt him, but ultimately decided to go and sit down at his side. Her head fell to rest against his shoulder, her fingers finding his own and lacing them together. "There's no sign of him anywhere," she said, repeating back the words that Shandris had said.

Malfurion let out a deep breath, opening his eyes. He tilted his head so that it was resting atop Tyrande's, rubbing his thumb in small circles over the back of her hand. "He'll be back," he said, but the words were lacking conviction.

The pair stayed like that for a long while, enjoying the brief escape from the rest of their world. Malfurion allowed his eyes to close once again, whispered a reminder that he loved her. The words stabbed at her heart as she recalled her kiss with Illidan, her act of betrayal against him. She pushed the thoughts aside and assured him that she loved him too.

At the sound of approaching steps, they looked up. Cenarius stood before them, his expression utterly unreadable. At his side was the green dragon Aspect, Ysera. Her eyes were half-lidded, but she smiled faintly down at the two elves. "Malfurion," she said in a light and airy voice. "We must speak with you about something."

With a look of confusion, the Druid pushed himself to his feet, throwing a quick glance at Tyrande. When he looked back to his master and the dragon before him, he gave a quick nod of respect. "Is everything alright?" He asked, the words laced with concern.

Ysera nodded in assurance. "Everything is fine," she said, without bothering to add, _as fine as it can be_. "We would like to tell you about a place called the Emerald Dream."

…

Within a few days, Illidan found himself utterly restless with his new accommodations. He had spent weeks on end living in the woods, hiding from the demons, struggling to get by, fearful he may not make it to the next day.

Now, he found himself lying awake on the first actual bed he had seen in what felt like an eternity, unable to sleep as his thoughts threatened to tear him apart. As promised, he had given Azshara any information he had to offer. He had told her of Malfurion's plans to destroy the Well. He wasn't sure why, but he had been expecting the queen to be more perturbed by the news. Instead, she had laughed at the very idea and waved the matter off.

Still, she had almost immediately doubled the guards stationed there.

Deciding to give up on the whole concept of trying to sleep altogether, he slipped out from under the blankets and dressed methodically. He made his way to the chamber doorway, pausing to scan quickly for any guards that might be passing by. When he deduced that the coast was clear, he stepped out into the darkened corridor beyond.

He wasn't sure where he was going, and he certainly had no idea where he was, but he just kept on going, trailing his fingers along the stone walls and tapestries. He tried to recall the ways Vashj had led him through, but the palace seemed an entirely different place in the shadows of night. Hoping he might be getting closer to the gates, he turned a sharp corner.

Right into the path of a broad chested Highborne. The man was scowling, but his expression twisted into more of a sardonic grin as he raked his gaze over Illidan, who was doing his best to keep his own features from giving away the shiver of fear running through him. Somehow he managed to jut his chin out and hold the other elf's stare.

"Illidan, I presume," the man said in a low voice. Apparently, the word of his defect from the rebellion and consequent arrival at the palace had spread fast. For some reason, he got the feeling that Lady Vashj had something to do with the circulation of the information. Illidan looked up at the man's face, unsure if he was meant to recognize him or not. "You don't know me," he assured him, sensing Illidan's trepidation. "My name is Xavius. I serve as Azshara's advisor."

Illidan wondered idly if he was supposed to do something, and opted for merely nodding in reply. Xavius was still wearing that same sickening grin. It made the night elf feel uneasy in his presence. "But that doesn't mean I myself don't know about you," he went on, slowly and deliberately emphasizing each word. He moved from where he had been standing and began pacing around the shorter elf.

"You don't know anything about me," he snapped in reply. The thought crossed his mind that he should not have been pressing his luck with someone obviously high ranking, not when he held such a precarious place here, and had so very much weighing on his shoulders. But he couldn't help feeling threatened by the way Xavius was circling him, a beast ready to take down its prey.

At his Illidan's words, Xavius let out a quick laugh. "I know enough not to trust you," he retorted quickly. They were words that stabbed him deeply, that twisted into his heart. "So, tell me then, Illidan Stormrage. What was the catalyst that tipped you over the edge? What was the final straw that made you betray your own people?"

Try as he might, Illidan was unable to stop his thoughts from straying to Tyrande. She wasn't the reason, not really, but she certainly hadn't helped with things. If only she hadn't kissed him back. If only she hadn't allowed him that only final flicker of hope, only to rip it from him so cruelly, daring to throw his own brother's name in his face like a weapon.

It may have been Malfurion's plots to destroy the well that set him off, but it was Tyrande's selfish actions that drove him to the lengths he had gone.

Xavius, he realized then, was still watching him intently, studying him, searching for the answers to his questions. The change in Illidan's demeanor was subtle, but it was enough. Xavius made a low humming sound in the back of his throat before speaking again. "Don't tell me. Was it a girl?" The way Illidan's gaze flickered to the side, just for a second, said all he needed to know without the night elf ever opening his mouth.

"Did she reject you?" Xavius pressed. "Maybe she found someone more powerful, more _worthy_ of her love?" Perhaps it was in his head, but Illidan swore there was some twinge of resentment in his voice, like maybe the words were hitting a bit too close to home for him as well.

Illidan swallowed hard. He knew that the pain in his eyes had given him away, that there was no point in bothering to lie when his every feeling was displayed clearly on his face. "Yes," he said, hating how weakened and broken the word sounded. He had been denying himself the chance to really process anything lately, since all of his energy had to be focused on winning the endless war. Now, it all seemed like it was crashing down on him at once, all the hurt and anger and sorrow building inside of him in attempt to tear him apart from the inside out.

Xavius gave him what he could only assume was meant to be a sympathetic look. "That anger will destroy you if you don't let it out," he murmured, words so soft they were barely inaudible, that Illidan could have only imagined them. "It's a pity you couldn't just...get him out of the way. Take her by force."

Digging his nails into his palms so hard that he swore he was drawing blood, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly a sharp pain shot through him, he shook his head. Xavius' voice was this low, melodic, _hypnotic_ sound that almost felt like it was penetrating his very thoughts. But he wasn't going to give in, wouldn't let those feelings of rage overcome him fully. Horrific visions flickered across the backdrop of his mind, of Malfurion's dead body tossed carelessly aside, Tyrande looking up at him the way she looked at his brother, her bare skin pressed against his under the curtain of the moonlight.

Illidan snapped his golden glowing eyes open. "No," he said firmly. "I will not."

Xavius gave a start at the sharpness of Illidan's voice. "Of course not," he said quickly, waving his hand as if to dismiss the idea altogether. "Forgive me if I have overstepped any boundaries. It was merely a harmless little fantasy."

The night elf turned away without another word, retreating back the way he had come, trying to block out the memories of Xavius' words dancing around in his head.

Almost as soon as had disappeared into the darkness of the hallway, Lady Vashj slithered into place at Xavius' side from where she had been watching in the shadows. Xavius stole a glance at her from the corner of his eye. "You are sure the Druid is the one, then?"

Vashj stood with her arms crossed tightly over her low cut dress, staring with cold eyes at the place where Illidan had just been standing. "My spies are everywhere," she replied, without bothering to look at him. "I am certain. The one leading the rebellion is the same that has broken our poor deluded Illidan's heart."

The Highborne man nodded once. "Good. If we can get Illidan to harness his anger, we can use it to put an end to him."

This time, Vashj did look over at him, though her expression didn't waver. "It is also his brother."

Xavius allowed a wicked smile to snake across his lips as he met her icy gaze. "Even better."


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: (In which Skye remembers all about Archi and Mannoroth, who she had previously denied existed, because reasons. Consider this a follow up chapter to "that time Skye was as vague as possible about Nelthy".)**

_**twenty two**_

If he had thought sleep was impossible before, it was even more out of reach after his run in with Xavius. The Highborne's words had twisted their way into his mind, and now no matter how hard he tried to block them out, he couldn't seem to stop thinking about them. He could see the images in his mind so vividly, could practically feel Tyrande's body in his arms coated thickly with Malfurion's blood, could hear her screams as he held her there-

Stifling a snarl, he pressed his palms against his eyes. He needed to get some air, find a way to clear his head before these thoughts tore him apart. Taking a few staggering breaths, he made his way through the winding halls of the Palace, thankfully without running into anyone else.

The air was cool, refreshing, filling his lungs in frantic gasps as he sucked it in with parted lips. The sky was a perfect shade of black, flecked with stars that glowed softly in the darkness. But the moon was absent that night, and it sent a shiver running up his spine. A bad sign, that was what Tyrande had always said. Even when they were children, innocent, untainted by the pains of loss and death and suffering, she had always said that a night without a moon was an omen for disaster. He had laughed at her then, but he certainly wasn't laughing now.

Without a goal, destination or purpose, Illidan began to make his way through the Palace lawns. Not so very far ahead, he could see the demon guards that patrolled the Well. He had been with the Highborne for a few days now, and had yet to see the Well except through the window of Azshara's chambers. He wondered if they would let him pass, let him near it. He had betrayed everyone, had earned the trust of the queen by turning his back on everyone he loved. Surely having her blessing counted for something, even if that something was only being allowed to go and look upon the source of all the conflict.

The guards let him pass without a second glance. Illidan found it unnerving, that only days ago he had devoted his entire existence to the destruction and massacre of these same creatures, and now he was able to walk among them as if he belonged. He kept his glowing gaze fixated on the ground, poured all of his concentration into putting on foot before the other as he made his way to the edge of the Well. He could see the swirling surface, the water that glimmered and omitted its own light, a beacon of hope and reminder of all that he was fighting for. This was what he had now. This, and nothing else. Whatever it took, he would find a way to end the invasion _without_ having to destroy the Well. He would not take the easy way out.

Illidan had made it within a few paces of the edge when he felt the ground start to rumble under heavy footfalls. Holding his breath, he glanced over his shoulder and saw a familiar, towering figure approaching. This was Archimonde, the first demon that he had ever seen, that fateful night at the party, when his bright new beginning had turned out to be nothing more than the beginning of the end. The pale blue creature was walking alongside another beast that Illidan had never encountered. He was equally as massive and perhaps even more terrifying, four clawed legs kicking up earth as he sauntered along with his stomach nearly dragging across the ground. His torso was all bulging muscles, seeming disproportionate compared to the stoutness of his legs. But it was the massive, twisting horns that had captured Illidan's attention, rising up from his scalp and spiraling high above his head.

"...beginning to think that Azshara does not actually have the ability to summon Sargeras at all," Archimonde was saying lowly, flicking his tail absently as he walked.

Illidan was thankful for the shadows and the nearby tree he was able to step behind, because he was surely not meant to hear this conversation. He pressed his back flat against the bark and strained his elongated ears to listen.

The second demon creature let out a harsh laugh; it was possibly the most haunting sound Illidan had ever heard. "The elf queen is almost amusing," he said in reply. "I think she truly believes herself to be some sort of chosen one. Pity we'll have to kill her once the summoning is finished."

Archimonde gave a low rumbling laugh that echoed the other, though it died off almost instantly. "Be serious, Mannoroth," he snapped then. "We have been here for weeks, and yet we have accomplished nothing. I warned her that our Lord does not like to be kept waiting, and still she is contented to sit in her palace and waste our time. And that battle with the Aspects took too great a toll on our troops."

The pair had very nearly made it past him now. Illidan took a careful step around the tree without ever moving away from it, trying to keep it between himself and their line of vision. He was grateful there was no one else around to see, for surely his movements were beyond suspicious.

"Ah, yes," Mannoroth answered him. They were getting further away now, their voices beginning to fade. Illidan took a risk and stole a glance around the tree to see them moving on, not having noticed him there at all. "How unfortunate we could not have used that Black Dragon and his- what was it, Dragon Soul?- as a weapon of our own. But enough of war for now, for there will be plenty to come soon. Tell me, have you heard from your brother at all…"

Illidan remained where he was for a long while, panting for air after having been so still for so long. His eyes were wide open and his mind was racing as he recalled the words of the demons. If Azshara and the Highborne were in fact struggling to complete the summoning of their master, that meant he had more time to stop them. And without even realizing it, they had presented to him an exact idea on how to achieve that. He had been there when the Black Dragon Aspect had turned on everyone. He had seen with his own eyes the power of his precious artifact, the things that it was capable of doing. If he could somehow to get it for himself, use its power against his enemies, then he could put an end to them and still protect the Well from destruction. It was perfect.

Of course, he would need a way to get it first. And, perhaps even more importantly, he would need a reason. Now that he had sworn allegiance to Azshara, he couldn't very well disappear. It would be far too suspicious, and she would doubtlessly retaliate in full force against what little remains of the resistance there were. And while Illidan may have been upset, furious even, with his brother and Tyrande, he didn't want to single handedly ensure their demise either.

No, somehow he would have to present it as beneficial to Azshara. Only then would she grant him permission to go and retrieve the Dragon Soul. And once he had it, unbridled access to such immense power, he would end this war once and for all, and prove himself to any that had dared to doubt him.

…

For the first time in what felt like days, Illidan was able to get some sleep. Azshara had seemed pleased at his suggestion to retrieve the Dragon Soul, especially when he had implied it might be just powerful enough to summon Sargeras. Now it was only a matter of time until she would send him to get it. Perhaps it was the feeling that he was finally making some progress that finally allowed him some rest. The thought that maybe there really was an end to all of this, and that it wasn't so very far away.

Of course, he had just managed to drift off, when a loud and abrupt knock at the door dragged him back into consciousness. Resisting the urge to ignore it entirely, he rose from the bed, attempted to rub some of the exhaustion from his eyes, and pulled open the door.

He was met instantly by the smirking face of Xavius. Vashj was standing dangerously close to him, her own expression filled with a strange mixture of contempt and amusement. Illidan was not oblivious to the way her eyes trailed up and down his bare chest before finally locking with his again.

"What's going on?" Illidan asked, choking back a yawn. He didn't even know what time it was, but surely it had to be very late, not at all the appropriate time to be pulled from his bed. If it was at all possible, Xavius' grin turned even more unnerving. Illidan's gaze flickered between him and Vashj, and he honestly wasn't sure which one of them put him more on edge.

"The queen has summoned you," the Highborne man said. "She instructed Lady Vashj and I to take you directly to the Well."

Illidan's brows shot up at the words. He searched his mind for any single reason Azshara may have summoned him personally in the dead of the night, but he was still barely hanging onto consciousness, and nothing sounded logical in his mind. Still, he knew better than to protest. He had barely managed to nod when Vashj's hand shot out to wrap around his wrist, pointed, perfectly manicured nails digging painfully into his flesh. "Best not keep her waiting," she said, dragging him out into the hallway. He thought about asking if he could at least change into something more appropriate, but knew that they answer would be no anyway.

Eventually, she finally loosened her grip on him, but she never did fully let him go, not until they had emerged into the night and she had tugged him all the way to the edge of the Well.

Azshara was already there, waiting for them with her hip jutted out to the side and an alluring smile. "Illidan," she cooed, lifting a hand in a small and graceful wave. In perfectly synchronized movements, Vashj and Xavius left Illidan's side and moved instead to flank their master.

If he hadn't been overly suspicious before, he most certainly was now. Still, he managed to remember himself, and quickly bent to bow before the blonde. "Your Majesty," he addressed her formally. A few days among the Highborne had been long enough for him to learn a thing or two, and so far they had seemed enough to keep him alive. "To what do I owe this?"

Azshara took a step towards Illidan and reached out to take his hands in her own. He resisted the urge to flinch away from her, stole a glance at Xavius and Vashj. The pair was watching him intently, and judging by the looks on both of their faces, somewhat surprised at the fact that the queen would deign to come near him.

Illidan waited with a lot of trepidation and a little bit of patience, as much as he could muster given the suspense of this situation, for Azshara to offer some explanation as to why he had been dragged out here to meet with her. But whatever he was waiting for, it never got to come, because suddenly a deep, bellowing voice echoed all through the air around them. He winced as it broke through the silence, almost as if it was inside his own mind.

Azshara, it seemed, was equally as startled by the voice, as she jumped suddenly and immediately moved away from Illidan. She spun, her eyes wide as they turned to fixate on the Well.

"This is the one, then?" It spoke out, low and dark, somehow simultaneously muffled and yet perfectly clear. "The one who claims to know of a way to finish the summoning?"

Illidan realized all at once that this was Sargeras speaking. The realization made his heart skip a beat, made his lungs seize up in his chest. This was the one that had sent in the demons, that had destroyed his home, that had slaughtered his people.

Azshara was speaking again, words that Illidan didn't hear, though he knew he should have been listening. But he was having a hard time focusing when his own thoughts were so scattered at the moment. He had thought himself lucky that he had been able to win the trust of the queen so easily, and even more so that she had considered his ideas regarding the Dragon Soul so highly. He had clung to the impression she had given that in a few days' time, he would be allowed to go forth and find it, bring it back under the impression that he would help them, and instead put an end to this.

He had not considered for even a fraction of a second that he would ever be faced with the lord of the demons himself, and although Illidan may not have been able to see him, his haunting voice was enough to break down his confidence, to make him question whether he could really do this on his own.

Illidan snapped back into reality only when he felt a rough hand wrap around his arm. Xavius, he realized, who was gripping him tightly and yanking him towards the edge of the Well. Illidan blinked quickly, barely managing to keep from stumbling over himself. He threw a frantic, desperate glance at Vashj, but the woman was watching the Well intently through her lashes, and the only indication of any emotions in her at all was the barely noticeable pursed lips.

"You," said the voice of Sargeras, and Illidan was quite certain in that moment that it was speaking only for him. "Will make a fine servant of the Legion. I am intrigued by the promise you show, and the role you may play in taking this world as our own."

Somehow, Illidan managed to stay perfectly still.

"I will offer you a gift, in exchange for your servitude," he said then. Only, offering, as it turned out, was more of insisting, and before Illidan could even open his lips to speak at all, a brilliant light erupted from the Well, and the only thing that existed was pain.

It was so completely consuming, it was all that remained, and it tore through him entirely. He wasn't sure if he was actually screaming, wasn't sure of anything at all except this neverending agony that erupted in him, taking over him, until the blinding flash of light faded to utter darkness as he tried to block it all out.

It was mere minutes, and yet it felt like hours dragging past that he was subjected to the torture. At long last, the razor sharp hurt began to subside, leaving behind only the occasional shivers of pain.

Illidan fell forward, would have hit the ground if not for Xavius' hands grabbing onto him to hold him upright. The world was spinning around him, spinning so fast until all that existed were the occasional blurring colors against a black backdrop. He tried to make it stop, tried to put everything back in its place, but it wasn't working. His breaths started to come in panicked gasps, but expanding his chest only forced a fresh wave of hurt to sear through him. He craned his neck to try and find the source of it all, but everything was fuzzy and impossible to pull apart from all the things around it. He could see only shadows and shapes moving before him, only the occasional flash of light, of color.

Except the Well of Eternity, which shone brightly before him, a bright white that sliced through the dark of everything else.

"Marvelous," a sudden voice, Azshara's voice, sliced through the air, catching his ear. He tried to turn towards the sound, but found that he was only met with more black. Still, he could feel her fingers ghosting over his skin, across his collarbone, tracing spirals over his chest that made him wince.

Another heartbeat passed, and then he heard Vashj's voice join in. "Sort of frightening, if you ask me," she scoffed. He could picture her standing with her arms crossed, but that was all it was, an image in his mind, more of a memory, and for some reason the fog wasn't parting and nothing was getting clearer. "I'm amazed he didn't faint from the pain. He certainly screamed enough."

Azshara hushed the other woman sharply. "Illidan is strong," she answered. Her fingers had not withdrawn from his skin, and Illidan didn't dare try to twist away from her touch, no matter how he might have longed to. Although he couldn't make out her features, he could perfectly imagine the evil grin that had taken over her face. The shift in her emotions was like a change in the atmosphere around them, and he felt that change in the air, just faint enough to notice. "He will bring us this Dragon Soul, and we will finish the summoning at last."


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Have I mentioned how sick I am of writing about war and stuff? Don't these people have anything better, and slightly less confusing, to do with their lives? I just keep telling myself that it's almost over xD I took some serious- let me just emphasize here- serious liberties with this chapter. Good times. Creative freedoms and all that. Don't hate. **

_**twenty three**_

If there had ever been a reason Malfurion had agreed to this, it had slipped his mind by now.

The black dragon called Neltharion, the one that had forsaken the other flights, forsaken his duty to Azeroth, and caused the needless deaths of dragons and elves alike for no apparent reason other than his own madness, was slumbering in the depths of his lair. Malfurion could hear his heavy breaths and low snores echoing off the stone walls of the cavern, could practically feel the heat of his breath upon his skin as he inched along deeper into the darkness.

Alexstrasza had been insistent that they retrieve the Dragon Soul, that they prevent an artifact of such immense power from ever being used again. So, as the last tattered remains of the resistance retreated to lick their wounds and try to form some semblance of a plan, Malfurion was here, in the lair of a dragon, with his fingertips trailing along dampened stone as he sought out the magical item.

Surely there had to be someone more capable of this job than him. He may have been powerful, but something told him that it wouldn't be enough to take on an Aspect, least of all one that had already clearly demonstrated his ability to massacre anything in his field of vision without even flapping a wing.

Again, whatever reasons had brought him here, they were long since forgotten.

Even though Malfurion knew what to expect at the end of the tunnel, he still felt himself take a sharp inhalation as his glowing eyes fell upon the sleeping dragon. If he had thought the demons to be intimidating, that was nothing compared to the fear he felt in that moment, the way his heart seemed ready to tear right from his chest. The great black form of the dragon was curled up against itself; every so often its tail or wings would twitch, a small puff of smoke escaping his nostrils.

The Druid was only focused on one thing, however, and that was the Dragon Soul. The golden surface glinted slightly, somehow managing to catch light in a place where there was none. And it was cradled tightly between Neltharion's talons.

Sighing deeply, he braced himself and took a step forward. He stopped short, half expecting the black dragon to wake and devour him instantly. But he was met with only the same even sounds of his snores. Deeming it safe, he continued to inch forward.

Soon, Malfurion was close enough to feel the hot air of the dragon's breaths against his face. Every muscle in his body ached with tension and he was certain that at any moment he would find himself staring at a row of gleaming, pointed teeth. With as much caution as was possible, he crouched down, his eyes never once straying from Neltharion's face. What felt like an eternity later, his fingers finally wrapped around the chain that held the Dragon Soul.

He had done it.

Malfurion did his best to remain quiet as he retreated, but he was intent on putting as much distance between himself and the sleeping dragon. For some reason, the whole thing felt too easy to him, and every few seconds he caught himself looking over his shoulder like he might see a blaze of flame chasing after him.

But the fires never came, and the dragon never woke, and Malfurion made it to the edge of the immense cavern without so much as a scratch, the Dragon Soul held tightly in his hands.

He let out a sigh of relief, stepped out into the light of the setting sun, and right into the path of Illidan.

The Druid staggered back a step, his eyes wide as they fell upon a pair of elves standing before him. He barely registered the first one, some heavily armored blonde he couldn't be bothered to place.

No, he was much more focused on Illidan.

His gaze travelled over the form of his brother. His _twin_, only now the striking similarities between them were much harder to see. Illidan's chest and forearms were covered in a tracery of sickly green tattoos that spiraled over his muscles and emitted a soft glow. A thin strip of cloth was wrapped around his eyes, or rather where his eyes should have been. The amber iridescence had been replaced by the same emerald luminosity, streaks of raw magic that looked as if they were burning right out of the sockets.

"Illidan," he whispered, the single word giving away all of his shock and pain and disbelief. "What have you done?"

Illidan heard the sound of his name, but more than that he saw the shifting of the aura before him, the pale light that was his brother. In the days following his meeting with Sargeras, he had learned to adjust quickly to the changes, mostly because he had little choice. At first, the darkness had been terrifying, imposing and suffocating, and all that he could see were the fuzzy outlines of things. Then, he had been sitting in his chambers absently casting, and he had watched the way the spells left his fingertips in brilliant explosions of light, and he had recalled how violently bright the Well of Eternity had been, and he was able to put it together from there that with this new gift of Sargeras, Illidan could see nothing more than the magical aura surrounding things.

So now, standing before his brother and not really seeing him but seeing instead a shift of colors that could really only be described as earthy, his eyes that weren't really eyes had fixated on the item held in Malfurion's possession, like a giant beacon of magic that blazed before him.

A sardonic grin overcame his face. "Hello, brother," he murmured. Somehow, even his voice sounded lower, raspy maybe, like he hadn't used it in a while. "I see you've made my job easy for me. Just give me the Dragon Soul, and I'll leave you alive."

Malfurion felt his mouth open and close several times without ever actually making a sound as he tried to grasp what was going on. He hadn't seen his brother since after the last battle, when he had told him of his plans to destroy the Well. He had planned out all of the things he wanted to say to him, all of the lectures he would give him for his selfish and reckless behavior. Now that Illidan was actually in front of him, he couldn't remember a single one of them.

Eventually, the only thing he could think to say was, "You can't have it." As if to enunciate his point, he clutched the Dragon Soul tighter against his chest. For a split second it almost felt like they were children again, fighting over some pointless toy instead of a magical artifact that had the capability to tip the scales of this war.

Illidan let out a quick laugh. Lifting a hand almost nonchalantly, he conjured up a small flame that danced around his fingers, that shone brightly against the darkness his world had become. What had once been red and orange and warm was now a dark green fire that smelled of sulfur and death. "I don't want to fight you," he said.

Malfurion couldn't help but feel that his twin's tone of voice and that fact that he had summoned the flames actually did a wonderful job of implying that he _did_ in fact want to fight him. But he held his head up high and held his ground all the same. "You left," he said evenly, his eyes narrowed slightly at his brother. "You left, and...and what? What happened to you?"

For the slightest of moments, Illidan almost faltered. It wasn't as if he had any real loyalty to Azshara or the Highborne. The only person he was loyal to now was himself, since everyone else seemed contented to turn their backs on him. But of course, he couldn't very well say that with the queen's lackey hovering over him. He glanced back at Varo'then before refocusing his unnatural gaze onto the form of his brother, and as he searched for an answer, it was Vashj's words that flashed across his mind. "I finally got on the right side of the war."

Malfurion could hardly believe what he was hearing. His heart was pounding rapidly, feeling as if it was breaking more and more with every beat. He couldn't even fully grasp what was happening, why it was happening, or how he could make it better. If it was anyone else, he would have attacked. But it was his brother standing before him, and so he was hesitating.

That hesitation was all Varo'then needed.

The Highborne lunged at Malfurion, catching him off guard and knocking him down to the hard ground. The Druid grunted on impact, struggling against the hold but unable to push Varo'then off of him. In the struggle, he lost his hold on the Dragon Soul, and Illidan watched from where he was frozen motionless as it skidded to the side.

"Illidan," Varo'then growled, freeing his dagger in a flash of steel and pressing it dangerously against Malfurion's throat. "Grab it now-"

His words were cut off when Malfurion suddenly shifted forms, leaving only a massive bear where he had just been. He caught Varo'then so completely off guard that the Highborne rolled off of him, but not before he felt the sharp tear of claws against the flesh of his face. A ragged cry left his lips as he moved out of reach from another swipe of his paw.

Malfurion let out a feral growl, hunched down and ready to pounce at the Highborne warrior. But it was too late; Varo'then was too fast, and he had already scooped up the golden disc, clutching to it with a maniacal grin. "I've got it," he snapped, his tone dripping with malice and pride, his own silvery eyes flickering to the night elf. "Illidan, let's go!"

Illidan took a step towards the Highborne, but it was as far as he made it before he was knocked down to the ground as the full weight of Malfurion fell against him, teeth bared and claws threatening to tear into his skin. Illidan thrashed back against him, the warm heat of emerald fires starting to fill his veins, the tracery of fel tattoos glowing brightly against his dark violet skin.

Malfurion let out a low growl, and in a single, fluid motion he had shifted forms and shifted his hold so that Illidan's hands were pinned down at his sides. "Enough!" He roared, chest rising and falling with each gasping breath, a frenzied expression upon his face. Illidan struggled against him for a moment longer, but finally gave up, glowering up at him.

"I don't want to fight with you, Illidan," the older of the twins said, repeating his brother' swords right back to him. Without being able to sense any emotion in his eyes it was hard to tell, but it looked like Illidan might have felt a tinge of regret, at least by the way his mouth twitched at the corners.

Whatever reply Illidan was about to give, it died in his lungs as he saw a flash of light in the corner of his enchanted vision. "What's happening?" He grunted, clearly upset that he had to ask at all.

Malfurion felt a pang of sorrow for his brother, for the person that was so much a part of him he swore he could feel all of his frustrations and hurt at the situation. He turned his head to the side but didn't dare roll off of him, afraid of giving Illidan a chance to get away. "Varo'then is opening a portal," he hissed back, watching the Highborne elf summon the swirling vortex before him.

Illidan growled lowly under his breath and tried desperately to push the Druid off, but Malfurion wouldn't budge. "Stop him!" He scowled. "He's going to take the Dragon Soul-"

It was futile. By the time Malfurion had finally decided he trusted Illidan enough to stagger to his feet, Varo'then was gone, and all that was left in his place was a ringing silence that echoed in the air around them.

Malfurion let out a deep sigh of defeat. Great. This was just great. He was going to have to return to Alexstrasza, not only empty handed, but also bearing the news that the Dragon Soul was now in Azshara's possession. He wasn't sure what the queen wanted it for, but it didn't take a lot to figure out that it wasn't going to be good for anyone.

Turning back towards Illidan, still sprawled out on the ground, he held out a hand to pull him to his feet. Frowning, Illidan reached his own hand out, carefully, hesitantly, searching the dark space before him until he found Malfurion's hand and grasped it in his own.

"Thanks," he muttered, brushing some of the dirt off himself as he regained his balance. "I'm, uh, still getting used to it."

Malfurion took a shaky breath, eyed his brother carefully, and then pulled him in for a crushing hug. Illidan had been bracing himself for a lecture, so he was caught completely off guard. But eventually relaxed into the hold, maybe even hugged him back a little. "Good to see you," the emerald-haired elf breathed against the younger twin. He pulled back, hands gripping onto Illidan's shoulders, unable to fully stop his thumbs from tracing over the shimmering green spirals. "We thought you were...Well, we didn't know what to think. But it doesn't matter now. You're here now."

Illidan searched his mind for something to say, anything at all, but he was honestly in shock at the fact that Malfurion was apparently just going to welcome him with open arms. Literally, open arms. Even after everything, after he had abandoned them, had sold them out to Azshara, had sold _himself_ out to the demon lord. After he had kissed Tyrande…

He shook his head quickly, banishing any and all thoughts of the priestess.

"Yeah," he answered. "I'm- I'm here now. I'm sorry. For taking off like that. And for...for everything else, too." He was surprised at how much he meant it, and how much it hurt him to think of all that he had done. And for what? What had he gained? Nothing but eternal darkness.

Malfurion flashed a small smile. Illidan couldn't see it, but he thought that if he really, really strained himself, he could feel the shift in the atmosphere, the mood lifting slightly, and a moment later he had slung an arm around his twin's shoulders, and the two were walking side by side like nothing had ever happened at all.

…

The pair made their way back to the resistance's campsite, which was looking substantially more empty than it had been the last time Illidan had seen in. "Azshara sent another force," Malfurion explained solemnly. Illidan didn't bother to respond. He couldn't stand to think that the reason the queen had attacked so viciously was because of the secrets he had revealed.

As they approached the fire, a familiar head of navy hair bobbed up and darted towards them, this opulent and translucent glow of energy that shined brighter than anything he had ever seen before, brighter than the Well itself, her light glowing just for him.

"Illidan!" Her voice was elated and giddy as she threw herself at his chest and held onto him tightly. He felt every muscle in his body tense up; she must have noticed too, because she immediately dropped her arms to the side and took a big step back. "Sorry," she murmured, lowering her silver eyes to the ground at her feet. "I just, um, I'm very glad that you're alive. And back. I was so worried about you-"

Illidan silenced her quickly by taking her up into his arms once again. "I missed you too," he whispered against her hair. It took all of his strength to ignore the stabbing ache in his chest, the pain of keeping his composure when all he wanted to do was keep her there forever. "And don't apologize. I'm the one that should be sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

If Malfurion was at all bothered by their exchange, he certainly didn't show it. Tyrande finally disentangled herself from the dark haired elf's hold and moved to take the Druid's hand instead. "Come on," she said happily, glancing back at Illidan. "Everyone will be so happy to see you're alright."

She never once said a word about his transformation. She never mentioned the orbs that had replaced his amber eyes, or the tattoos that traced his body. Her smile never even faltered. She was curious, yes, but for the moment it was pushed aside by her sheer happiness at the fact that he was okay.

Illidan didn't know what to do with that approval. He didn't know what to do with the fact that Malfurion had been so willing to forgive him for leaving, even if his brother didn't know the full extent of where he had been. He didn't know what to do with the fact that Tyrande didn't even care about what had happened to him. He didn't know what to do, except stand there frozen in place as the couple kept moving, getting further and futher away from him, and not even noticing that they were leaving him behind.

He felt something close to panic setting in. He had thought that he could do this. He had _wanted_ to do this. Wanted to be the hero, the good guy, the one that got to hold the girl and recount how he had led them to victory. But it seemed that role was filled already, because it was Malfurion everyone would turn to, and he would always just be the black spot on their perfect existence that his brother would always have to make excuses for. No doubt he would completely deny Illidan's role in what happened with the Dragon Soul, to protect him. He couldn't handle the kind of love Malfurion had for him, or Tyrande had for him. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think straight, couldn't-

"So you're back."

The voice was icy cold, slicing through the silence and demanding all of his attention. Illidan whirled around, squinted into the darkness, and spotted her at last, a pale white light streaked with red.

"Maiev," he grumbled, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

The elven girl was leaning against a tree, eyes narrowed as she glared at him. But at the sound of her name, she straightened up and stalked towards him, her movements predatory, until she stood directly before him, and in a sudden flash of motion, she slapped him hard across the face.

Illidan recoiled with a sharp cry, his fingers flying to trace the stinging skin left in the wake of her unexpected attack. "I suppose I deserve that."

"You deserve worse," she snapped, sneering at him.

"In my defense, I do believe I am the one who woke up alone-"

"You used me!" She cried again, her hands balled into fists at her sides. But her brows furrowed into a frown as she noticed the strip of cloth tied around his face and the fel tattoos on his skin. "What is this?" She asked then, her tone giving away some of her curiosity.

Illidan laughed harshly. "It's none of your damned business," he retorted.

She was about to bite back at him, but stopped herself when his expression softened, swallowed hard to choke back the tears stinging at her eyes. She would not break. She had finally managed to eradicate any feelings she may have had for him, and she wasn't about to let him drag them back up. All she had now was anger, her driving force.

"Maiev, I didn't mean to hurt you," Illidan tried then. "I should never have let things go so far between us."

Now it was her turn to laugh, a frozen, musical sound that pierced his ears. The red streaks that danced before him seemed to have gained luster as her emotions rose. "You got exactly what you wanted from me," she said. He had been expecting her to yell, but instead she sounded very flat and void.

There was a rustling sound, the clanking of her armor against itself to tell him that she had deemed this conversation over. But she stopped suddenly and threw one last glance at him over her shoulder, a glance he couldn't actually see. "Oh, and by the way," she spoke, her voice an eerie calm that put him more on edge than any shouting ever could. "I may have been naive about you before, but I'm not completely foolish. You disappeared, and two days later a massive army of demons showed up. Then suddenly you're back?"

Illidan's heart skipped a beat in his chest, but he did his best to keep his expression impassive.

Maiev shrugged her shoulders and took another step away from him. "I'm just saying that it seems suspicious, doesn't it? Maybe your brother and Tyrande can live in denial about it, but I'm not about to jump to your defense."

This time, she really did take her leave. Illidan finally managed to remember how to move, and scurried off in the direction of the fire. He wouldn't let Maiev's words get to him. He may have messed up before, but he would not betray them again. He clung to that thought like it was all he had left, hoping that it would prove to be the truth.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: As I'm sure you would expect, this chapter does draw a bit from the WoE instance in Caverns of Time. However, the lore presented in the instance doesn't line up with the lore I found on the wikis. Because of this, I ended up with some giant mess of notes scribbled on papers that I was left to piece together. This was what I ended up with after tons and tons of stressing out, so I really hope that it worked out as well as I was hoping. We are getting down to the last few chapters here...probably only two left at most. Are you all as excited as I am? I hope so. And I have big, big plans for the sequel, so there is that. **

**Without further ado, I present to you "How the Well of Eternity Might Have Happened if you Combine the Instance, the Lore and a Few Things I Desperately Wanted to Add."**

_**twenty four**_

Considering the elves were immortal beings, when Malfurion said that they were running out of time, it had been a little unnerving. Time was never something that they had given much thought to before, but now it seemed that time was of the essence. With the Dragon Soul securely in the hands of Azshara and the other Highborne, they had a limited amount of time to make their move before it was too late.

"This is insane," Illidan growled softly under his breath. His hands were wrapped tightly around the handles of his glaives as he looked up at the Eternal Palace from the safe covering of the woods.

From where he stood at his side, Malfurion gave a soft, humorless laugh. "Maybe," he agreed. "But this whole thing has been insane from the start. This is the only chance we have." He hated to admit it, but his brother was right. Azshara was about to summon a great and terrible evil into the world, and if they didn't stop her, then everything they had ever known would perish.

Of course, Illidan thought, there was a distinct possibility that they were all going to die anyway. Storming the palace head on was asinine and ludicrous, but it was the best idea they had. So the last of the rebellion had rallied together, and Cenarius had assembled any allies that he could find, and now they were lingering in the shadows and waiting for the signal.

Illidan glanced at his brother, the shades of green and brown and blue that all blurred together into the Druid's aura. "Do you think she's alright?" He asked softly, almost hesitantly, like he was afraid to hear the answer. Without even realizing it, his fingers moved to brush up against the small pouch fastened to his belt. Before departing, Tyrande had given the brothers seven small vials, each filled with waters she had blessed with the powers of Elune, instructing them to use them for healing purposes if they or their companions should need them. Just having them resting at his side offered some small sense of hope to him, a reminder that she was with them even if she was not _with_ them.

Malfurion allowed a small smile to tug at the corners of his lips. "Tyrande can take care of herself," he responded.

Illidan let out a huff and ignored the pang in his chest. Ignored the searing memories of their single, perfect kiss. Ignored the painful fact that, when all of this was over, he would still be left with nothing.

No, he thought, tightening his hold and refocusing his attention on the palace before them. Not nothing. Malfurion thought that the only way to end this was to destroy the Well of Eternity, but Illidan was certain there had to be another way. Maybe he didn't have a plan yet, but whatever it took, he was going to ensure that his brother couldn't take from him the one thing he had left.

"Of course she can," he answered. Giving a slight nod, he straightened up. "Ready?"

Malfurion took a few steadying breaths, lifted a hand and beckoned the rest of the elves forward. "As ready as I'll ever be."

Side by side, the Stormrage brothers led the last of their people to what very well may have been the last day of their life.

…

Tyrande shoved a hand roughly through her thick, dark hair, pushing it away from her face and taking a deep breath. This was it. The final stand. Everything rested on this one moment, this one last push from the resistance. If they were successful, they would end the invasion and take back what was left of their home from the demons that threatened to destroy everything they had.

If they lost...Well, Tyrande was trying hard not to allow any such thoughts to creep into her mind. She stood up tall, proud, clinging to any confidence she could find, a silent prayer to Elune in the back of her mind begging for protection. Then she threw a glance over her shoulder at the small group that stood behind her, their expectant and fearful gazes. All watching her, waiting for her, because she was the High Priestess now, and it was her job to lead them through this darkness.

"Tyra?" Ellison's soft voice was the first to break the silence as the purple-haired elf placed a hand on her friend's shoulder. She didn't say anything more, but she didn't have to. That single word was enough to hold a million questions, very few of which Tyrande actually had an answer for.

Still, she gave a sharp nod, turning her glowing gaze forward. The plan was simple, really. While Malfurion and Illidan and the others were charging right towards the front doors, Tyrande and her followers would use the covering of the woods to attack from behind, hoping to take out as many Highborne and demons as they could in order to clear the way to the Well. They would reconvene in the middle, destroy the Well, and effectively put an end to this nightmare.

Simple. In theory, at least. She could only hope that it was easy in execution.

"Let's go," she said at last, letting out a breathy sigh. There was little point in delaying the inevitable. Either they would arise victorious, or they would perish trying. But she could postpone her fate no longer.

The elves that accompanied her all steeled themselves for whatever awaited them beyond the walls, struggling to choke back their own fear at what they might find there, at what horrors were waiting to take out what little remained of their race. But regardless of it all, they would follow Tyrande unyieldingly, and pray for her resonating light to lead them all back home.

…

Whatever she had been expecting, it was not the unnatural silence with which she was met. She had expected all manner of terrible things, ready to pounce on her and tear her limb from limb. She had expected violent, desperate fights, defending her fellow priestesses against an endless onslaught of demons.

She had expected far more than this quiet that seemed to echo in the expansive corridors, which twisted and turned through the palace with little indication of where she was going and no way to tell where she had already been.

Tyrande strained her elongated ears, a vain attempt to hear something, _anything_ at all. Some indication that Malfurion, Illidan and the others had made it as well, perhaps some faint din of battle in the background. But there was nothing at all, and while that thought perhaps should have comforted her, it was doing nothing of the sort.

The navy-haired elf came to an abrupt stop at the end of a corridor, lifting a hand in a wordless gesture meant to halt the others. They obliged, coming up short behind her. With her heart beating in her chest, Tyrande peered around the corner cautiously, refusing to let her guard down for even a moment.

Immediately she let out a huff of a breath as her gaze fell upon what she saw. The hallway ended in a wide. doorless opening framed by two sheer curtains, and beyond that she could see an expansive sprawling garden. The air was thick with the hum of magic, so tangible that she herself could feel it crackling around her. There was not a doubt in her mind that they had found their way through the labyrinth of the Eternal Palace at last, and that this was the entrance to the Well of Eternity.

"Come on," she murmured, once she had assured the coast was cleared. The High Priestess led the group along to the edge of the hall, every step bringing them closer to the Well, closer to the end of this whole thing, closer to their salvation. She could feel her steps growing more rushed, her breaths and heartbeat more frantic and erratic.

And just as they emerged into the wooded area that housed the massive lake of the Well, a group of Highborne guards leapt into their path.

...

Illidan lifted the glaive just in time to deflect a ball of flames aimed straight for his face. The crackling fires ricocheted of the flat face of the blade and whirled back through the air towards the Highborne that had cast it, knocking him down with a loud cry of agony.

They had been battling their way through the palace for what felt like, ironically, an eternity. The waves of attackers, both elven and demonic, seemed endless, but still they pressed on, somehow managing to take down every one of them. Illidan was a whirlwind of death and fel green fires, and Malfurion was relentless, lunging and thrashing at any who came into his path. Behind them the rest of the resistance fought on in a surge of steel and arrows and flashes of light called down from Elune.

Dancing along the edge of his darkened vision, Illidan caught sight of another spellcaster ready to attack, and spun in his direction. The Highborne had barely managed to begin casting when he was struck down, blood splattering forth against Illidan's chest, the red clashing against the vibrantly glowing tracery of tattoos.

"Illidan!" The sound of his voice rang out from above the cadence of the fight, drawing his attention to the familiar form of his brother, an aura he had come to recognize well and pick out from the chaotic, swirling colors that dominated his vision. "Leave the rest to Jarod and the others. We've almost reached the top!"

Giving a sharp nod, Illidan took off after Malfurion, pushing himself hard and still unable to keep up with the swiftness of the Druid. They fell into place together side by side at the top of the ramp, taking in the sights before them. The balcony was massive and open, a glass floor and low railing offering a perfect view of the Well down below. And it was surprisingly empty of any enemies, save a few Highborne gathered around.

But it was the central figure that had captured Malfurion's attention, although perhaps not in the way she might have desired. His teeth bared in a vicious snarl, his eyes fell upon the lithe and slender form of Queen Azshara. She was standing at the edge of the balcony, the unnatural light glinting off her snowy white hair, reveling in the madness before her.

And it certainly was madness, too. The once still and serene surface of the Well of Eternity had erupted into an emerald vortex, the golden disc of the Dragon Soul suspended into the air above. Demons were practically crawling out of the portal that had been created, the opening of which appeared to grow wider and wider by the minutes, all in preparation to welcome their master. To Illidan, this seemed even more chaotic, for there were so many different sources of fel and arcane magic in the air that they all streaked over one another, blending together into a sickening rainbow that spun around him and made him nearly topple over with dizziness. He took a deep breath, attempting to steady himself.

Malfurion had resumed his elven form, and reached up at the sight of his brother's clear discomfort, put a hand onto his shoulder. He didn't say anything, but Illidan understood all the same. It was a silent promise that whatever happened, whatever came out of this, they were in it together. If they went down, they went down together, as they had always done.

At long last, Malfurion took a step forward. "Azshara!" He shouted out, his voice dripping with malice. The queen's head whipped around at the sound of her name, her bright eyes flashing with something deadly, but her plush lips twisting into a sickly sweet smile.

"The Druid Malfurion," she purred in a low, sultry voice. She turned away from the balcony and took a few steps towards them, showing off the sway of her hips. "I have heard much about you from my generals. I was wondering when you might come to bask in my presence." For the briefest of seconds, her gaze flickered to where Illidan stood at his side, perfectly still except for his hands, which continually clenched and unclenched around the handles of his glaives, ready to jump into action at any moment. "And you brought your traitorous brother along as well," she added with a short, musical laugh.

If Malfurion was fazed at all by her words, he hid it well. "This ends now," he hissed. "No longer will I allow you to slaughter my people and destroy my homeland."

Azshara cocked her head to the side, jutted her hip out and grinned wickedly at the pair. "_Your _people?" She repeated sharply. "I am the Queen! These people and these lands belong to me, to do as I see fit." Malfurion felt his mouth open, but Azshara wasn't done. "You should be _thanking_ me, for all that I have done to ensure we will be safe when the world burns."

Malfurion felt something between a humorless laugh and a strangled gasp push its way up from his lungs, lodging into his throat and making it impossible to breathe, let alone speak. She honestly expected them to lie down at her feet and offer up gratitude, when they had watched so many of their own fall prey to the demons she had ushered into the world? She expected them to thank her for single-handedly inviting their doom with open arms?

If it was at all possible, Azshara's grin became even more spiteful. "What's the matter?" She cooed in a silky voice. "Cat got your tongue?"

"That's enough," Illidan snarled, lifting his glaive almost without realizing it. Azshara was a wispy, almost transparent white gold light, an aura that was almost entirely washed out by the brightness of the Well. She turned towards him then, surely about to spit out more venomous, poisonous words, but before she could even part her lips, a shrill scream pierced the air from somewhere down below.

All else forgotten, Illidan's head snapped in the direction of the scream, a voice he would have recognized anywhere, and her name fell from his lips in a rushed whisper, barely even audible, "_Tyrande_."

Azshara chose that exact moment to attack, lifting her hands and whipping a wave of ice at the brothers. Malfurion acted quickly, shoving Illidan out of the way, knocking him down and protecting him from the blast. Illidan grunted at the impact, a sharp pain shooting through his body. But he ignored the pain, ignored everything, because Tyrande was in danger, and he had to protect her.

Malfurion must have sensed this too. He started to push himself up to feet, but paused to give a sharp nod. "Go to her," he said. "I can deal with Azshara myself."

A vast part of Illidan wanted to argue, to promise his brother that he wasn't going to leave him, that they were in this together. This was to be their moment, when they would stop Azshara, when they would rise above, unstoppable and united. But a bigger part, a stronger part, knew that Malfurion could handle this, and that right now, Tyrande needed him. And he had promised himself a long time ago that regardless of whatever was going on, if she needed him, he would be there for her.

So he nodded quickly, lunged to his feet. Made his way to the edge of the balcony and leapt over into the pandemonium.

…

The priestesses fought valiantly. They summoned all the powers of Elune, so that the entire clearing was aglow with light, slicing through the darkness that had settled over the palace. They took down Highborne and demons alike, littered the ground with corpses, guided by their goddess.

And in the end, not even Elune could save them. Tyrande watched in horror as the other priestesses, her sisters, those she was sworn to protect now, fell to the endless wave of terror. Their blood soaked the grass, their bodies broken and bent all around her.

It was too much to bear. It was too much to take. Her heart was shattering in her chest, over and over, but somehow she still managed to persevere. She would not give up, not now, even when she was the only one standing-

"Tyrande, watch out!" The high pitched squeal of Ellison reached her ears; she whirled around in the direction of her friend, narrowly managing to dodge the swiping claws of a demon before Ellison took him down in a blast of golden light. The navy haired elf opened her mouth to utter a thanks.

But all that came out was a twisted, echoing scream as a massive blade drove itself through Ellison's chest. Tyrande watched in wide-eyed horror as she crumbled to the ground, the sword pulling out with a sickening, slick sound, the elf's slender body spraying crimson blood that stained her white gowns. "N-No," she whimpered. "No, no." Tyrande extended a hand, reaching for her friend, like maybe if she could just scoop her up into her arms, she could force the life back into her, she could _save_ her instead of being forced to watch the glow fade from her eyes.

The demon was staring at Tyrande with menacing, burning eyes, almost as if he was reveling in her obvious suffering. After a long moment, she choked back a sob, lifted her head to meet his gaze, tears streaking her cheeks and lips curled back in a sneer. "You will pay for this. My goddess will see to that."

She was a brilliant and dangerous flash of light, assaulting any who dared to cross her path, and for a moment it seemed that she might manage to take down every single demon and Highborne by herself, so driven she was by her fury. But it was that same fury and rage that made her reckless, impulsive, letting her feelings guide her actions instead of thinking them through.

She watched as another Highborne collapsed, pushing her hair away from her face, spinning around to face down yet another enemy. But it was ultimately her carelessness that got her into trouble, and so when she had stopped paying attention to her surroundings, that was the moment a Highborne released a shard of ice right at her. It lodged into her chest pulled a sharp, agonizing scream from her lips, and filled her with an all-consuming pain.

It was that pain to which she clung as she felt herself fall to her knees against the bloodsoaked ground. But before she felt herself fall into unconsciousness, she saw a flash of motion, of dark hair and twisting green tattoos, and as she finally succumbed to the pain, it was with Illidan's name on her lips.


	25. Chapter 25

_**twenty five **_

Tyrande's childish laughter was contagious, echoing through the air around them, filling all the spaces between the trees that the moonlight couldn't seem to reach. "Come on!" She called out giddily, glancing over her shoulder at the two brothers. They struggled to keep up with her as they clambered up the side of the hill, their little fingers digging into the soft dirt for support so that they wouldn't lose their balance and go toppling right back down.

"Almost there," Illidan grunted, giving a sharp nod. Malfurion smirked at his side, picking up his own pace, crawling up the steep slope like some kind of animal, completely unphased by the mud that stained his clothes. Illidan glared at his twin from the corner of his amber eye. "If you don't stop laughing at me, I am going to throw you back down the hill. Then we'll have something to laugh about." Malfurion rolled his eyes, returning his attention to each step he was taking.

At long last the three children reached the top. The grassy hill was so high that they were able to see over the tops of the trees that surrounded Suramar, beyond even the high walls of the Eternal Palace, beyond the Well and off into the great unknown of the world. The twins fell into place beside Tyrande, one on either side of her, always together no matter what life would throw at them.

"There," the young girl said, lifting a hand to point to a massive mountain in the distance, jutting out against the star-speckled night sky.

"That's Hyjal," Malfurion said, nodding as he stared at the towering peaks. There was a deep sense of longing in his gaze, and Illidan swore he was leaning forward as if to be as close to it as he could. "That's where Cenarius lives."

Tyrande crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "I told you it was bigger than the Palace, she said, throwing a pointed look at Illidan and sticking her tongue out. "You didn't believe me. I'll bet it's the biggest thing in the whole world."

Illidan narrowed his eyes. It _was_ big, and it was hard to imagine anything bigger in all the world, the way that it looked as if it threatened to rip the stars right down from the sky. The sudden feeling of Tyrande's fingers slipping into his own demanded all of his attention, and he felt his cheeks rising in heat as he angled his head to look over at her. She was smiling gently, giving his hand a soft squeeze. "We're going to go there someday," she said decisively, giving a nod. "All three of us. We're going to go stand on top of the mountain, and I'll bet we'll be able to see the entire world from up there."

More than anything, Illidan wanted to believe her. But they were so small, and it was so far away, and the thought of growing up was so scary and overwhelming. And yet, somehow, with their hands clasped together, it was easier to ignore those fears and doubts, and to imagine themselves, someday in the future, standing just as they were now on the top of Mount Hyjal, with the entire world and all of its endless possibilities at their feet.

...

"Tyrande, wake up. Open your eyes, Tyra. Come on."

Though he would never admit it to anyone, since of all of this had begun, Illidan had become far more familiar with the emotion of fear than he had ever been in all his life. And in that moment, collapsing to his knees beside Tyrande and pulling her body up into his lap, he was more afraid than he had ever been before.

"Tyra," Illidan breathed. His fingers worked carefully to push her matted hair away from her face, and they ghosted over her body for any sign of her injury, but all he could see was the brilliant white light that he had come to recognize as being _her_ flickering and fading before his eyes. "Don't you dare die on me," he growled roughly, clutching onto her body like it was all he had left. And it was, it was.

When his fingertips brushed up against her shoulder, Tyrande let out a sharp hiss of pain. Illidan tensed up, kept his hand in place so as not to lose track of the spot, listened to the sounds of war raging on around him. Up on the balcony, Malfurion was repeatedly charging down Azshara, and repeatedly being knocked aside like it was nothing. Tyrande watched this as best she could, what with barely able to keep her eyes open. "Illidan," she gasped out, clearly straining herself to speak, her chest rising and falling slowly and deliberately. "Help...him..."

Illidan ignored both her words and the stabbing pain of betrayal in his chest. "I'm not leaving you," he growled roughly. "You're going to be alright, Tyra. I won't let you leave me, not like this." He was panicking, he knew, and he needed to find a way to take a step back and figure out what to do.

And then it hit him, what he had to do to save her. Illidan kept one hand grasping onto her firmly while the other scrambled to fish out the vials she had given him before the battle, each filled with water blessed by the healing powers of Elune.

Tyrande opened her mouth to speak, maybe to ask him what he was doing, but all that managed to make it through her lips was a sputtering cough and a few pain-filled gasps. Her fingertips dug into the skin of his arm, felt the heat rising off of him, saw through fading vision the twisting green fel magic twisting around him. Illidan finally managed to get the cork out of one of the vials, carefully pouring the crystalline clear liquid over her wound.

Almost immediately, Tyrande felt its effects taking hold of her. She felt her muscles begin to unclench, and relaxed her hold upon him. Her chest still stung in agony, but she could sense the blessings of her goddess working to mend her wounds and restore her body. But Illidan wasn't taking any chances, it seemed, as she saw him pulling the rest of the vials open. "Illidan, wait-" She tried to protest, but it was all in vain. One by one he poured them over her, not satisfied until every last drop had sunk into her skin. And then he waited, clinging to her like he might be able to squeeze the fading life back into her body.

The battle still raged on around them. Elves worked to beat back the last of the demons, their cries of vengeance and victory piercing the air. Malfurion and Azshara were going head to head, ready to end this once and for all, one way or another. It even appeared that, in the face of their coming end, some of the Highborne had defected and were now fighting _beside_ the night elves, and no one even cared at this point because they were hanging on by a thread, all ready to lay down their lives in a last, desperate attempt to save what was left of their world.

But Illidan was oblivious to all of it. All that existed to him in that moment was Tyrande, rocking her gently in his arms, a thousand memories dancing across the darkness of his vision. He wasn't sure if he had the capability to cry anymore, but he thought he could feel the hot sting of tears welling in his eyes, faced with the fear of losing her. For all his life, she had been there, standing proudly beside him with that beautiful smile, holding his hand, offering light when he had none. She was his entire world, whether she wanted it or not, whether she would ever love him back, and he refused to let her go. Even if it killed him, even if his love for her drove him to the ends of this world and into the next, he would never let her go.

A great crackling sound tore him from his own frantic thoughts and back into the pressing reality of this moment. At some point, Tyrande had managed to push herself up into a sitting position, her arm slung around his shoulders for support. He could feel the terror rolling off of her, heavy and thick in the air around them, and he could see this great chaotic swirl where the Well lay, twisting colors that blended together in a whirlwind of disarray. "What's happening?" He growled out in demand, wrapping his own arm around her waist to help pull her to her feet. Once he was sure that she could stand, he bent down and felt around in the grass for each of the emptied vials, slipping them back into the small leather bag that hung at his hip.

Tyrande struggled to stay upright, swaying a little, holding out her hands to steady herself. "The Well," she answered at last. Her silver eyes were trying to take in everything around them all at once, all of the madness and death and chaos that seemed to have summed up her life for so long. She tried desperately to pick out Malfurion from the rest, to know that he was safe. She finally spotted him, down on the ground level, a determined look on his face as he lifted a hand towards the well.

Her silence put him on edge far more than her frantic voice had. "Tyrande!" He hissed, reaching a hand out towards the white hot glow of her aura. "Tell me what's going on!"

She barely heard him at all, so busy staring at Malfurion, torn between wanting to rush to his side and wanting to stay out of the way. She was unable to do anything but stare at him with fear in her eyes, and only when she felt Illidan's heavy hand gripping onto her shoulder did she force herself to tear her gaze away. She spun around to face him, took in his frenetic expression, met it with one of her own. "Malfurion is destroying the Well," she answered quickly, rushed words that spilled forth so suddenly there were hardly spaces between them.

Each muscle in his body tensed up at her words, somehow both slowly and all at once, and his sightless eyes peered down at her, not really seeing her but still able to picture her face so perfectly. He could sense the slight knit of her brow and the way her lips turned down at the corner, and he could sense the way she struggled to stay where she was instead of running off to be at his side. Because nothing Illidan ever did for her would be enough. Because for her, it would always be Malfurion, and when all of this was over, it would be _his _arms that she ran into. Never mind the fact that Illidan had been the one to drag her back from the brink of death. Never mind that he had been the one cradling her body and willing her to hold on, had been the one to use the vials-

The vials.

Illidan dropped the hand that had rested upon her shoulder back to his side, took a step away from her, painfully aware of the distance that had not been there only moments earlier. And then, wordlessly, he turned away from her, a silent goodbye that would never be spoken aloud on the tip of his tongue, and he took off towards the well.

...

The fight with Azshara had pushed Malfurion to the brink. And now, he was just so tired, and so ready for this all to end.

It was that thought alone that had driven him to leap from the edge of the balcony, shifting forms halfway through the fall so that when he hit the ground it was in the shape of a fierce cat, paws outstretched and claws digging into the earth. He bolted towards the Well, dodging the corpses of fallen demons and elves alike, pausing only long enough to spot Tyrande's body cradled in Illidan's arms.

She was safe. She was alive. And he intended to keep her that way. He intended to do whatever it took to protect her, and to defend whatever remained of his home and his people.

Malfurion pushed on until he stood near the edge of the Well, only then allowing himself to change back into his elven form. He sucked in a long breath, felt it expand in his lungs, and lifted shaky arms. It was time. Time to stop this madness. Time to ensure that the demons never had a way to threaten them again. He channeled all of his energy into the spell, watched as the sky began to swirl in a perfect storm.

Something flitted at the edge of his vision, a flash of motion that slowly began to take the form of an elf, and when he broke his concentration long enough to really look at it, the shadowed figure took the shape of his brother.

"Illidan-" he started to shout, but his voice was lost in the maddening winds of his storm. The once perfect surface of the Well, now swirling and distorted by the portal it had become, was starting to implode upon itself, and instead of spitting demons out it seemed to have created some kind of vortex that sucked them back _in. _

Malfurion felt a sudden hand on his arm; stealing a glance to the side he saw that Tyrande had fallen into place at his side. She was shaking on her feet a little, and her white gown was tattered and torn, stained with dirt and blood, but she was alive, and for now that was all that mattered to him.

"What is he doing?" She asked frantically, desperately, with panic evident in her glowing eyes. She didn't actually give Malfurion a chance to reply, though, before she was lunging forward, and all he could do to stop her was slinging an arm around her waist.

"Tyrande, no!" He snapped, the storm raging above them wavering slightly as his concentration was broken. "You'll be sucked right into that portal!"

She struggled in his hold for a few seconds, but finally he felt her relax into his hold. Her fingers dug into his flesh so hard he was sure they would leave bruises, her gaze still transfixed on Illidan.

He was kneeling at the edge of the Well now, teetering dangerously in the violent gusts of wind. Against all odds, he was not dragged into the portal like everything else in sight seemed to be. The very world itself seemed to be crumbling around him, trees being torn from their roots and shrieks of demons filing the air as they plummeted into the very place from which they had come.

And even as he knelt right in the center of all the chaos and madness and destruction, Illidan felt very removed from the scene. He was far more focused on his own task, and on not losing his careful balance and tumbling head first into the tainted waters before him.

With shaky hands he pulled the vials from his pouch, one by one, and he carefully dipped each into the Well. Malfurion wanted to ensure that it was destroyed, and with it he would take away their immortality, their access to magic, their very essence. Illidan had already made up his mind, the moment his brother had suggested that this might be their only option, that he was not about to sit by and let this happen. Now that the moment had come, he would seize the opportunity to persevere in the only way he could think to do so. With each glass vial now filled once again, Illidan pushed himself up to his feet and turned away from the waters.

If Malfurion wanted to destroy the Well, then so be it. Illidan would just have to make a new one. It made sense, didn't it? Even if he knew that Malfurion would never see it that way, Illidan knew that it made sense. Their world had crumbled in upon itself, quite literally, and left nothing whatsoever in its wake. They were going to have to start all over now, with what little of them remained, and try to pick up whatever pieces of their life they could still find. They were going to need the strength of the Well, the power it had to offer and the magic that it granted them, now for than ever before. He was doing this for them, for all of them, for the elves that had fought side by side until this bitter end, to ensure that when all of this was said and done, they would even _have_ a future.

The winds breezed past him, tugged at the long strands of his dark hair, dragged his entire world down into the depths of the portal that raged on behind him. Everything appeared to him as a maddening, chaotic blur of colors, blending before his eyes so quickly that they all became this one, blinding light, impossible to separate from itself. He thought that if he really, really tried, he could hear Tyrande's voice, calling out to him, begging him to stop, to come away from the Well, demanding an explanation. His heart constricted in his chest at the sound, the only constant in the insanity.

The world fell apart, its destruction a perfect backdrop to him as he stood there, frozen for a moment, lost to his own memories of simpler days. Of standing atop a grassy hill under the blanket of night, staring off into the distance at places that seemed so out of reach to them and a mountain that towered over all the rest of the world. And promising each other that no matter what happened, no matter where life took them, nothing would ever tear them apart. He remembered the feeling of Tyrande's hand in his own as they raced through the woods as children, and he remembered the feeling of her lips against his, a stolen kiss under the shade of a tree.

It was those memories that Illidan clung to, those memories that offered him strength as he was forced to make the hardest decision of his life, to turn his back on Tyrande, and Malfurion, and then he took a breath, and he ran.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: It's been a long road, guys. But I present to you at long last, the final chapter of Betrayal. I want to give a thousand shoutouts to every single person who took the time to read and review this story. You all are the reason I kept on going, even when I was certain it was going to be impossible to make it through a certain scene or try to make sense of some of the ridiculous lore. A particular shout out to Blame the Priest, as always, for being my rock.**

**As we get ready to move into the sequel, Atonement, I would like to offer all of you a little giveaway, because I am all about giving back to the fans that have given me so much. Drop a comment in the review section telling me which pairing you ship the most. Illy/Tyra? Illy/Maiev? Tyra/Mal? Some other strange combo of characters? **

_Whichever ship gets the most votes, I'll do a special scene in book two for that pairing. _

**Upon posting of Atonement, this poll is now closed. **

**Anyway, I won't delay you anymore. Stay tuned for a special sneak preview chapter for Atonement. I'll be seeing you there, I hope! Love, always, Skye xx **

_**twenty six**_

The world was falling apart.

The world was breaking and splintering right before her eyes, with a deafening sound that filled the air, and all Maiev could do was watch helplessly. She was frozen motionless and surrounded by a whirlwind of death and chaos, and all she could do was watch helplessly. She was vaguely aware of someone calling her name, calling out to her over the dull roar of the madness, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She couldn't do anything at all except watch as the ground tore open and the Well sucked everything around it down into the swirling portal.

Rough hands grabbing ahold of her shook Maiev from her trance-like state. She whirled around, ready to cut down whatever assailant awaited her, and instead found herself face to face with Jarod. Her brother had a frantic expression on his face, his gloved hands tugging at her arm. "Maiev, come on," he said hurriedly. "We have to get out of here before we're killed."

Maiev nodded numbly, glanced back over her shoulder as the world collapsed. Jarod was trying to pull her along, trying to get her to safety, and all she could do was let him, because she seemed to have completely forgotten how to function. So close. It was so close to being over, finally over, and all she had to do was hold on a little longer. But she was so tired, and everything was falling apart, quite literally, so she trailed obediently after Jarod as he dragged her away from it all.

It was a flash of motion in the corner of her vision that finally dragged Maiev out of her trance and back into the reality of it all. Suddenly, the sound seemed overwhelmingly deafening, roaring and cracking and crumbling into what was left of the Well of Eternity. Strange, how something that was supposed to be untouchable, something that was supposed to last forever, could be so easily destroyed, and could take so much with it.

The elf blinked rapidly, trying to stop her vision from blurring. She angled her head towards the movement just in time to make out the form of Illidan, dodging felled trees and sprinting away from the scene, a look of determination upon his face, those damned fel tattoos glowing brightly. Maiev sucked in a low breath, exhaled it in the form of his name. And before she knew what she was doing, she was shaking free from Jarod's hold, ignoring his protests, and taking off at full speed after him.

She wasn't even sure what had possessed her. She just knew that she had to catch him, had to stop him. Because even if she didn't know exactly what he was doing or why he was running away, she knew that Illidan couldn't be trusted. Ever since he had defected to Azshara and then so _conveniently _returned _after_ the demons had slaughtered them, she had known.

_No_, she thought to herself. She had known long before that. Her thoughts drifted back, only for the most fleeting of moments, to a night that seemed painfully far away, nearly forgotten in all that had happened since. When she had been younger and much more innocent and Illidan had found her all alone in the training grounds. Maiev had always known that Illidan could not be trusted. And yet again and again, she had let him in. She had dropped her guard for him over and over. She had neglected to heed her own judgment. She had given him all that she had, her heart and her body, and he had betrayed her.

Maiev would never make that mistake again. She would never open her heart to anyone, just to let them crush it and throw it back at her. She would never trust anyone as long as she lived. And she would most certainly not let Illidan run off and get away with something else that would no doubt only bring pain to everyone he crossed.

And so she ran. She pushed herself harder. She moved faster in spite of the exhaustion that had taken over her limbs and the weight of her armor trying to drag her down. She chased him down with all that she had, with all the determination and desire in the world, and in that moment nothing else mattered. Not the sound of Jarod shouting out to her, not the great cracks that filled the air as the land itself split open, not the branches of trees that scraped against her dulled plate. Nothing else mattered but making sure that Illidan Stormrage would never hurt anyone again the way that he had hurt her.

She knew not how long she ran, nor how far. Her relentless pursuit of him led Maiev through the forests, leaping over gaps that had appeared instantaneously in the ground itself as the Well had ruined the earth. It seemed that the spell Malfurion had cast upon it knew no distance, was unaware of the space it had covered as it ripped the world to shreds. It took her over ledges and up hills that she had no idea how she actually managed to climb. But she never let up on her chase, just clung to the notion that if she caught him, if she stopped him, she would be freed from the pain he had wrought upon her heart.

And then, when she was quite sure that she was out of breath entire, the forest gave way to a large clearing. In the center, there was a pristine, radiant lake, and at the edge of it knelt Illidan. Maiev skidded to a halt, breathed a sigh of relief. At long last, her chase had ended. She staggered forward, a hand raised and his name on her lips, but before she could speak, another shrill voice interrupted.

"Illidan!"

Maiev snapped her jaw shut and whirled around to see Tyrande standing at the edge of the clearing, the breeze tugging at her long strands of dark hair and the hem of her tattered dress. The priestess was flanked by Malfurion and Jarod, all three of which were staring at Illidan with horrified expressions on their faces.

At the sound of his name, Illidan rose to his feet and spun around, his fel-green eyes narrowed as they tried to make out the shapes before him. Tyrande took a staggered step towards him, her hand outstretched, her own eyes widened with fear and pain. "Illidan," she repeated, this time softer. "What are you doing?"

That certainly seemed to be the constant question, he thought bitterly. And all he could do was laugh, a hollow and humorless sound, his fingers clutching one of the empty vials. "What does it look like I'm doing?" He snapped, waving his other hand towards the lake. "I am doing what must be done, for the preservation of our people! The Well is gone, but that doesn't mean we need to lose its power." Malfurion thought himself some sort of savior, delivering them from the clutches of the demons, but from where Illidan was standing the only person his brother seemed to be trying to help was himself. He alone had made the decision to take away their source of power and immortality, just as he had made the decision to take Tyrande as his own. And just as he had known would happen, Illidan was to be left empty-handed and alone. He wasn't about to let that happen.

Malfurion watched his brother for a long time, his expression caught somewhere between a scowl and a grimace, his hands clenched into fists at his side as all of pieces of Illidan's plan fell into place. Without even realizing it, he was shaking his head, like just by refusing to accept it he could undo what had been done here, he could stop his brother from creating a new Well. "You can't-" he sputtered, but he was cut off sharply.

"It's already done," Illidan growled out. "I've already poured the waters of the Well into the lake. You're too late, Malfurion. You're not going to take this away, as you have seen it fit to take everything else I ever wanted." In spite of himself, he couldn't stop his gaze from straying to Tyrande. He caught her gaze, caught the way her cheeks blazed with shame and she dropped her stare to the ground at her feet. He felt a spark of rage in his chest at this, at how she could dare to stand there so innocently and act like she had played no part in this at all, like she hadn't known exactly what she was doing when she kissed him and then turned around and ripped his own heart out and threw it right back at him.

Malfurion was not oblivious to what was transpiring in those few silent seconds. He had known for a long time, he supposed, even if he hadn't exactly realized it. But it mattered not, in the end. Tyrande was not some prize to be won; she was, and had always been, quite capable of making her own choices. He hardly thought that he should be faulted for the path she had decided to walk, the one that had led her to his side. And certainly she didn't deserve any blame, and if Illidan couldn't see that for himself, then maybe it was a lost cause.

Instead, he tried to bring the focus back to the actual problem at hand. "Don't you understand?" He snapped, shaking his head, struggling to keep his composure. "Have you paid attention to nothing but yourself for the past months? It was the Well of Eternity that brought this whole disaster upon us in the first place. It was what lured the demons to us! Source of power or not, what you have done here is selfish-"

"_Selfish_?" Illidan repeated. "I have given everything to put an end to this. I have done nothing but fight the demons since the moment they arrived here."

"And now you have given them a chance to do it all over again!" Malfurion retorted. His hands were clenched into fists at his side, his frustration bleeding through as he tried to make his brother see his reasoning. But it was beginning to seem hopeless.

Illidan glowered at the emerald green glow that was his brother, unwavering and strong before him. "What would you have us do, Malfurion? You would disarm us, leave us powerless to fight back the next time the Burning Legion attacks? I've done this to protect us against them!" Malfurion had been deemed a hero, the savior of the Kaldorei, the one that had guided them through the war and brought them to salvation from Azshara's reign. But in the end, Illidan was the one that would guarantee their survival. In the end, he would be seen as the hero.

Malfurion was silent for a long time, and as he stood there with his mouth hanging open he found that he just didn't know what more he could possibly say. Illidan would not understand because he did not _want_ to understand, because all he could see was his own desires, because his judgment was being clouded by greed, and Malfurion had never felt so incredibly far away from him before. This was his brother, his _twin_, half of one whole, and yet here they were with this great divide now separating them, and neither willing to step down.

"Illidan," Malfurion spoke at last. His brother's name had never sounded so broken upon his lips. But then, the man before him wasn't his brother, not really. It had never been so clear as it was in that moment, standing in the wake of all his madness. "What has happened to you?"

Now it seemed it was Illidan that had nothing to say. No retort or remark or effort to defend himself. Just this desperate expression on his face as he willed his brother, his best friend, his other half, to at least to understand his choices and see that he was doing what must be done for the sake of every night elf that still breathed.

Ultimately, it was Maiev that stepped forward, reminding everyone of her seemingly forgotten presence, a deep scowl etched into her face and her bright eyes never once leaving Illidan. "He cannot be trusted," she said, each word slow and deliberate and dripping with malice. "He has betrayed us before, and now he has done it again. We cannot just allow him to get away with this."

Tyrande threw a sharp look over her shoulder at the younger elf. Once, she had been a shy and soft spoken priestess, but this war had changed them all, and so now Maiev was left as a hardened fighter instead. It showed in the way she squared her shoulders and clutched her weapon, in the way she looked ready to lunge at Illidan any second. It took all of her self control just to hold her tongue, to stop herself from lashing out, to turn her attention back to Malfurion and rest her hand lightly on his arm. She didn't realize how badly it was trembling until she felt the way it shook against his constant steadiness. "Maybe I can talk to him," she murmured. Off to the side, she swore she heard Maiev give a sharp, muffled laugh.

Ignoring her, as well as the careful look Malfurion was giving her, Tyrande took a deep, steadying breath, and moved a few steps closer. "Illidan," she said softly as she approached, wishing to alert him of her presence, unaware that he could never have mistaken the blinding bright glow of her aura for anyone else. When there was only a short distance left between them, she took a chance, reached out to take his hand in her own. "Illy," she mumbled quietly, a voice meant only for him to hear. With their fingers laced together, she thought back to all the times she had done the exact same thing before, all the times they had stood side by side, defended each other, promised each other that nothing could ever keep them apart. Giving his hand a tight squeeze, she willed him to remember as well.

And remember he did, far better than he wished. His chest constricted with pain as he clung to her hold, wanting nothing more than to pull her in closer, to hold her in his arms always, to keep her as his own. But that wasn't what she wanted, was it? No, she had made that clear. He had gone over this in his mind a thousand and one times, and it never made any difference. It never changed the outcome, never eased the hurt, never made it any easier for him. Losing her love was the hardest thing he had ever endured, excepting maybe the way that it felt to have her to stand before him now and try to offer him any sense of peace after she had torn his world apart in the first place.

All at once, he shook free of her hold. "No," he hissed. "No more, Tyrande. Don't act like I matter to you, not after what you did to me that night."

There it was. In spite of the fact that this was probably supposed to be a painful scene unfolding before her, Maiev had to bite down at the insides of her cheeks to stop the corners from turning up in a smirk. Her gaze flickered to where Malfurion stood off to her side, saw the way his face fell in defeat at the words spoken and how Tyrande recoiled like she had been slapped. It didn't matter what had happened between her and Illidan, Maiev knew, only that _something_ had happened, and she could use that to her advantage.

"Malfurion," she murmured lowly, leaning in, gripping her weapon, watching him intently. And as soon as he gave the slightest dip of his chin, closing his eyes for a moment too long, long enough not to see the way she threw herself forward with all the passion in the world.

Illidan almost didn't see her coming. Maybe he wouldn't have seen it at all if not for the way Tyrande sucked in a breath, letting it back out in a shrill cry, lunging out of the way just in time for Illidan to raise one of his demonic glaives to meet the umbra crescent. His force was enough to knock Maiev back, but she was instantly coming at him again, the echo of their weapons filling the clearing.

They fought relentlessly. Any time Illidan gained the upper hand, Maiev would switch her approach, and he was left trying to gauge the way her outline moved, watching the shades of fiery red rage flicker and dance around him, trying to feel the shift of the air as it blew past her curved blade. "You ruined everything," Maiev grunted between great, arcing swings, lunging in close and then pulling back before he had a chance to retaliate. "You cost half the rebellion their lives. You led Azshara right to the Dragon Soul. You _broke_ my _heart_."

Anger seared at Illidan's veins with each word that left her lips, each of his crimes laid out before him, one by one. With an animalistic snarl, he gripped his glaives tighter and charged her down, landing a blow against her armor, the impact enough to send her sprawling against the grass once more.

"Maiev!" The frantic cry of her brother shattered the moment, dragged Illidan out of the trance of the fight and back into reality, reminded him of where they were. A flash of movement to his side caught his eye, just in time for him to spin around and release a surge of emerald flames that collided right with Jarod's chest. He was thrown back, a howl of pain on his lips as his head hit the ground hard, the scene fading from view, his vision clouded with darkness.

The sight was enough to drag Maiev from her own frenzied rampage, abandoning her weapon as she cried out for Jarod, staggering to her feet and rushing to his side. She dropped to her knees, her hands moving over him, pushing his hair away from his face, terror streaked across her face. His eyes were closed, and he wasn't moving, and he wasn't answering her, and all over again she was frozen and powerless as the world fell apart. "Jarod," she whimpered. "Jarod, please." She ripped off her gauntlets and threw them aside, squeezing her eyes shut to stop the flow of tears, a rushed prayer upon her lips as she tried to call upon Elune to grant her just enough strength to heal him.

Illidan stood breathless, panting, his chest rising and falling. In the absence of the battle, the clearing felt painfully silent, broken only by the occasional audible sob from Maiev as she clutched to her unconscious brother. Across the glade, Tyrande stared at him like she had never seen him in all her life, and although he wasn't able to see her face, he was able to feel the tension that flowed from her, from all of them, until it made the air so thick he swore he was going to choke on it.

He felt his mouth open, perhaps some sort of apology ready to spill forward. But whatever he was about to say never made it past his lips, for a moment later a shadow descended upon him, and before he had time to react to it at all, Maiev had knocked him across the back of the head with the handle of the umbra crescent. Her maliciously scornful expression, so utterly full of hatred, all for him, was the last thing he saw before he collapsed into the darkness.

...

The first thing he felt was the pain taking over his body. His head was spinning and everything was dark, which he should have been used to anyway, but this was a different kind of darkness. It took a few minutes for him to gather the strength to push himself up off the cold, hard ground. He didn't know where he was or where he was going, if there was even anywhere to go. He didn't know anything except the pounding in his head and the hot, coppery taste of blood in his mouth.

Managing to push himself to his feet, stumbling in the shadows for something to support him, Illidan finally felt his body collide with the damp stone wall. His legs were threatening to give out beneath him, but still he took a few steps, wiping the blood away from his lips. Fading in and out of consciousness, drifting somewhere between pitch black and something even darker, a thousand memories flashed across his mind.

Somewhere, he could hear voices, and he wasn't sure if they were real or in his head, because everything was sort of blurring together. The sound of his name reached his ears, then, spoken in a sweetly soft and tragically broken voice. Like a dagger tearing into his flesh. Of all the times he had heard his name fall from her lips, it had never hurt him as much as it did then. Nothing else existed except that sound.

Illidan opened his mouth to call out to that familiar voice, but only ended up coughing up a mouthful of blood, spitting it against the ground. He took a few more hesitant steps, and was met instantly with a sharp, shooting pain from his shoulders. Only then did he become aware of the chains that bound him, the cool metal he hadn't noticed before encircling his wrists and making it impossible for him to move more than a few feet.

With this realization came the panic, settling in heavily upon his chest until he couldn't breathe, rushing rapidly through his veins as he gave a hard tug at the chains. All they did was rattle against themselves and cause a fresh wave of pain to descend upon him. A low grunt passed through his lips, his knees giving out at last; they hit the ground hard, the chains allowing him to slump forward, dangling in agonizing defeat.

When he finally managed to find his voice, he found that it was impossibly hoarse, his throat impossibly dry. He swallowed hard, tried again, finally managed to croak something out past his chapped lips. "T-Tyrande?" He called out. Her name had never sounded as frantic as it did in that moment, and it seemed to ricochet around in the pitch black, bouncing off of walls he couldn't see, reminding him with each echo of his own pathetic desperation. "Tyrande," he whimpered again, so soft he doubted it was even audible.

But no reply came, and Illidan was left to wonder if she had ever been there at all, or if he was only imagining the sound of her voice.

It was impossible to tell how much time passed by him. Without even the faintest hint of light for him to cling onto and no indication of anything that was happening, it all seemed to slip away until it didn't exist at all. Illidan thought that he could still hear the voices talking, low and distance, and he devoted all of his energy into straining to hear them. Tyrande, he swore, he would have recognized the sound of her voice anywhere, and another, deeper one…

"It is settled, then. Illidan will remain here, where he cannot endanger anyone more than he already has."

A muffled sob. The shifting of heavy armor.

"I will not fail you, Malfurion," came another voice. Feminine, but not Tyrande. Illidan frowned deeply, trying hard to concentrate in spite of the pain that still stemmed from the base of his skull and swam around his head, making it so hard for him to remember anything. "Believe me when I say that _nobody_ sees the importance of this task as much as I do."

Another long pause. Then Illidan made out the sound of soft, hurried footsteps, saw the faintest outline of a glow moving in closer.

"Illidan." Tyrande spoke in a hushed whisper, her slender fingers wrapping around the bars of his prison.

"Tyrande," he said again, with the same sense of urgency. He tried to move closer to her, to her light that was somehow strong enough to shatter through this darkness. But the chains would not allow him to come any further than he had, and Illidan felt painfully aware of the distance that remained. "What's going on? Where am I?"

A delicate sigh fell from her lips, her hold on the bars so tight that her knuckles stood out white against her soft lavender flesh. "I'm sorry, Illy," she murmured. "I tried to change his mind. I tried, but he wouldn't-"

"What are you talking about?" Illidan growled, much harsher than he meant to, but he couldn't handle all the pain in the way that she spoke.

She never got the chance to answer, though, to offer any sort of explanation or any more of an apology. Not that it would have mattered anyway. Tyrande knew all too well that her words could offer him little comfort, especially now. Instead, it was Malfurion's deep voice that broke the silence, calling out to her, beckoning her back to his side.

And Tyrande, dropping her hands from the bars, squeezing her eyes shut to stop the tears that stung her eyes from breaking free, turned away from Illidan once and for all. Not a single word, not so much as a muffled goodbye. She just left him there, and she made sure to take his heart right along with her.

Illidan watched as her white light disappeared, swallowed up into the blackness, swore his heart stopped beating when it had gone. Her name ripped free from his lungs in a terrible cry that echoed in the crepuscule. He ripped and the chains that gel him back, and he screamed for her again and again, ignoring the pain in his throat and shoulders as he did.

At last, he gave up altogether, for he knew she couldn't hear him anymore. Or at the very least, she wasn't listening. He gave up, and he let her go, let everything go, let himself go numb because it was all he could do to stop the stabbing ache of betrayal in his chest.

And then it was easy to succumb to the darkness, which he should have been used to anyway.

**You want to believe that there's one relationship in life that's beyond betrayal**

**A relationship that's beyond that kind of hurt**

**And there isn't. **

**-Caleb Carr-**


	27. Atonement: Teaser

All at once, it stopped. Silence returned to the halls of the Barrow, fractured only by the sounds of his own heart threatening to beat its way right out of his chest. No matter how he strained his ears, it was all that he could hear, just his pulse and the last remnants of whatever great battle had just been waged ringing off the stone walls.

A moment later, there came the sound of footsteps, but they were soft and hurried instead of the usual heavy, measured sound of Maiev. No, this was not his jailer approaching. This was someone else, and for some reason Illidan couldn't seem to stop his hands from shaking, and there was this aching he couldn't quite place, a feeling so long forgotten that he didn't think he could have identified it if he tried.

Until the shadows parted.

For as long as he could recall, Illidan had known only darkness. It had pressed in upon him from all directions, until he had absorbed it right into himself. But now, for the first time in more years than he cared to consider, the shadows gave way to light. It came slowly, blindingly bright, pushing away the last of the dark so that it was all he could see. He staggered back away from the bars of his cage, narrowed his eyes as the light flooded his vision.

And then came a voice, so painfully soft that he could barely even hear it, and it was somehow both the most familiar and foreign sound he had ever heard in all his life, just a quiet whisper of, "hello, Illidan."

In the instant that followed, he felt more emotions than he could even comprehend, one bleeding into the other until it was impossible to pick them apart. And yet, at the same time, he felt nothing at all. The seconds were measured by the rapid beat of his heart, until at last he was able to draw in a ragged, shaking breath, lifted his chin and stared directly into the white light of the figure before him.

"Tyrande."

Saying her name aloud brought on a surge of feelings that coursed through his veins like fire, all passion and despair and anger and want. For thousands of years, he had lived with those feelings, had lived with the curse of his love for the woman who stood before him now. For thousands upon thousands of years, it had driven him mad, that love and the knowledge that he would never see her again. He had clung to the memories of her for fear that if he ever tried to push them aside, he would lose her altogether, and lose whatever remained of himself right along with her.

Now, Illidan choked them back one by one and forced himself to take a few hesitant steps towards the edge of the cell. He raised his hands to grip the bars tightly, so tightly that his knuckles turned white from the pressure. They were the only thing left between them, it seemed, and if he was being perfectly honest with himself, he was having a difficult time believing that this was real. Surely this was all some sick nightmare; he had dreamed of her so many times before, and it certainly stood to reason that he was merely trapped in his own tormenting dream once more.

Tyrande, too, was hesitant, keeping her distance as she gazed upon him. In the dark of the prison, it was hard to see much of anything, but the dim light was enough for her to make out his familiar form, and the demonic glow of his eyes and the tattoos that spiraled across his chest shone vividly against the obscurity that surrounded him. Almost without realizing it, she had lifted her own trembling hand, extending it through the bars and placing it lightly against his cheek.

"Illidan," she breathed once more, his name edged this time with a sense of relief. "You're alive."

No thanks to you, he started to snap, but quickly bit back the retort. Still, he flinched away from her touch, turning his head roughly to the side. Tyrande yanked her hand back as though he had burned her, clutching it against her chest as she watched him. But he sensed no fear in her aura, only traces of regret and desolation.

"What are you doing here?" He finally said, because it was all that he could think to say without breaking down entirely.

Tyrande took a slow, steadying breath, but said nothing for a long moment. When she did speak, she did so in a low murmur that might have broken his heart if not for the fact that he didn't think he could possibly have been broken any more than it already was. "We need you, Illidan," she told him, daring to rest her hand atop his own. "I fear the Burning Legion has returned-"

"I needed _you_!" He roared, cutting her off and pulling away from her again. The priestess recoiled once more, her mouth hanging open as she gaped at him, and this time he did sense her fear. It destroyed him to know that the person he had never wished to hurt in all his life was afraid of him, but he was too caught up in his own rage to think on it for long. Too caught up in his own rage to even _realize_ what she had said, for surely if he had registered her words he would have set aside his own grudges and grievances.

"Illidan-" She started again, but he was far from done.

"I needed you, and you weren't there, Tyrande!" His features quickly rearranged into a scowl, all of the emotions he had harbored towards her seeming to spill out at once. "You _abandoned_ me. You left me here to die. You locked me up and went on with your life like it was nothing. You forgot about me-"

"I never forgot, Illidan," she snapped back, her own frustration apparent. "Do not dare think for a second that I forgot." No, she had carried the burden of her guilt around for centuries. She had felt the bitter remorse of what had been done to him. She had replayed all of their memories, wondered what she would have done differently if it would have ensured that Illidan would not be forced to spend an eternity locked away.

She was retreating, her light was dimming, and while Illidan wanted little more than to cling to it and keep it all for himself so that he would never have to return to the dark. He felt his enmity diminishing, leaving only a great apathy in its place. "What do you want from me, Tyrande?"

Whatever answer he may have been hoping for, it was not the one he got. "I want you to help us fight," she answered evenly. The franticness in her voice was gone again, replaced with a sort of frigid distance that seemed entirely unfitting for the girl that existed in his memories. But then, that girl was in no way the same as the one standing before him. She was gone, lost to the effects of passing time. Tyrande had experienced years of hurt and loneliness and the quiet determination it had taken for her to lead their people, and those things had changed her. But then, Illidan had felt that hurt and loneliness too, and he didn't feel all that different. "Illidan, our people need you."

The elf gave a long pause, closing his eyes in attempt to block out the brightness of her light. It did little good; even still he could sense it there. So he gave a heaving sigh, opened his eyes slowly and bowing his head. "Because I care..._once_ cared for you," he said lowly, "I will help you."

Tyrande opened her mouth to speak again, but she didn't get a chance before Illidan shot her a severe look. It was the strangest sensation, staring into his eyes, or what would have been his eyes if not for the accursed orbs that had replaced them. "But," he added, his voice so intense it sent a shiver up her spine. "I will never owe our people anything."

The priestess bowed her head in understanding. When she raised her chin once more, there was a newfound glow ablaze in her eyes. "Alright," she said, giving him a sharp nod. "Let's get you out of here."


End file.
